Kind Hearts and Cat Flaps
by Ooshka
Summary: Emma Swan wasn't a cat person, but she'd come to appreciate her cat. That didn't mean she needed another one hanging around, especially not a noisy, geriatric, thief with no appreciation of personal space. And she definitely wasn't sure about the cat's owner, Killian Jones. But just because everyone leaves in the end, does it really mean you can't be happy now? Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**So this was supposed to be a cute little one-shot, which is now going to be at least a two-shot because I have no control over how wordy I am :)**

**But this is a, very deserved, Christmas present for my friend Chocolatecrackle (whenever she gets the time to read it) who followed me into the fandom so she could be my cheerleader. Thank you and I hope you get to have a very relaxing (and not too hot) Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Emma would hardly term herself an expert on cats. She hadn't even particularly wanted to own one herself, but her colleague David had come in to the station with a story about how they'd bulldozed the house down the road and found a mother cat and kitten living underneath it; his wife Mary Margaret was going to keep the mom, did Emma want the kitten?

Well, no. Not really. Emma thought the idea of being responsible for another living creature was completely terrifying. And so, she'd protested, as best as she was able.

"I couldn't. I mean…I'm a police officer. I work shifts…"

David had shrugged. "Cats don't care. Plus they're nocturnal…or, what's the other one? Active at dusk. Anyway. It'll keep you company. And your place already has that cat door installed."

Emma sighed, and wished, fervently, that she had actually got around to getting the cat door removed from the back door of her little cottage. The previous owner had been some kind of mad cat lady and it had been there when she'd bought it; locking it had seemed the easiest option at the time and the whole notion of replacing that panel of the door had been put on the backburner.

But now she still had a cat door, and there was the possibility that, with no relationship on the horizon and very little interest in signing herself up for yet another heartbreak, David was trying to set her up to be the town's next mad cat lady. It was not a prospect Emma relished, but she couldn't come up with another excuse quick enough, and David just made the decision for her. "Great. I'll tell Mary Margaret to bring her around tomorrow, after school."

"Her?"

"Yeah. We called her Tinkerbell. I mean, you can change it if you want," he shrugged and took a sip of coffee that had to be cold by now. "But I think Mary Margaret already got her a collar and it would be a shame to waste the money."

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever." At that point Emma had admitted defeat. Maybe she could just give the cat to a shelter and tell David she ran away. After all, what were the chances the thing would actually want to stay with her when it got there?

The next afternoon David's wife Mary Margaret had arrived carrying a cardboard box with a few holes in the side, through which a pair of green eyes were barely visible. When the box was opened in Emma's living room, there was a flash of grey, the tinkle of a bell, and the kitten disappeared under the sofa in a blur.

"Don't worry," Mary Margaret said, unloading cans of kitten food on Emma's kitchen counter. "She's just feeling a bit nervous. She'll come out when she's hungry."

Emma looked at all the cans and wondered just how much food one small cat could eat. "Maybe she just wants to go back home, you know? To her mother?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Cats are meant to be solitary. I don't think they'll miss each other all that much. These days Bluebell just hisses at her."

Emma wasn't all that convinced. Solitary was one thing, something that Emma knew far too much about, but she couldn't imagine that the kitten under the sofa would be at all comforted by the fact she was Emma's pet now. No, she was bound to run. After all, Emma had done it enough; all the times she'd left a foster home that had promised her something akin to a family and never actually kept up their end of the deal she'd been running herself, looking for a place she really belonged.

She wasn't sure she'd ever found it. Although Storybrooke, Maine was close. But there was still a pull she felt, an urge to see if maybe, out there, _somewhere_ she'd find the family who'd given her up.

And the kitten would be exactly the same.

If it ever came out from under the sofa.

Emma put some of the cat food in a bowl on the kitchen floor, but the kitten ignored it and stayed where it was. A quick glance under the sofa had revealed the same green eyes that Emma had glimpsed earlier, but the kitten didn't join Emma when she sat on the sofa to watch some TV, and it still hadn't budged from its spot when she went to bed that night.

And if it wasn't for the glaring reminder of the kitten food left in the kitchen to remind her in the morning, Emma might have forgotten that she now had a cat at all. It was only when she put her cocoa down on the coffee table as she went to find her boots, and came back to the sight of a small kitten lapping up the whipped cream at the top of the mug, that she actually had a chance to view her new roommate.

The kitten had eyed her warily, and puffed out its fur in a display of aggression tempered only by the fact that its nose was decorated with a big blob of whipped cream.

"Hey," Emma said, gently. "It's OK. I don't bite."

It turned out that Tinkerbell did, the kitten catching her with its teeth as Emma reached for the mug "Ow!"

Tinkerbell looked a little worried at Emma's loud reaction and she immediately felt bad for the thing. It wasn't like she understood the rules yet, was it? And she was just a baby.

"No more biting, OK?" Emma reached out her hand and Tinkerbell sniffed it experimentally, before allowing Emma to stroke her tiny head. Almost immediately the kitten started purring, louder than Emma would have thought was possible given her size.

"Well, I guess if you want, you can stay then," Emma said, pretending she wasn't being won over by the thing. "But if it doesn't work out, no hard feelings, OK?"

That was two years ago, and Tinkerbell, now a sleek plump-ish fully grown cat, was more than aware of the rules of the house. Most of them she'd set herself. She didn't like cat food as much as she liked the whipped cream out of Emma's cocoa, the macaroni cheese from Emma's dish, or the cookie crumbs that were left on the coffee table. The cat gym Emma had purchased remained unused, but the mat in the kitchen was a mess of frayed ends and the rows of small holes in the living room curtains showed exactly which path Tinkerbell used to reach her favourite spot at the top of them.

Above all else, Tinkerbell laid claim to the spare pillow in Emma's bed. Every night Emma fell asleep to the sound of her purring, and in the morning she awoke to the not so gentle tap of a paw on her nose, reminding her to get up and put the cocoa on.

It wasn't so bad, all told. And given that Emma had all but given up on the notion of ever finding a human who she'd be happy to share that pillow with, Tinkerbell didn't seem like such a bad companion to have.

But, expert or not, she did have some notion about cats. Or thought she did, anyway. At the very least she thought she'd heard most of the noises they could produce.

So when she heard a weird, almost mechanical sounding noise coming from her kitchen one morning she never expected it would be feline in nature.

"What…the hell?" Emma asked, processing the scene in front of her. Tinkerbell was perched on the countertop, which was a strictly forbidden activity, but it wasn't the biggest problem in the room right then. The problem was a skinny pale orange tabby cat who was alternately yowling at the top of his lungs and eating as much of Tinkerbell's cat food as he could cram into his mouth. Some of it didn't stay in his mouth for long and he spat it back out, all over the floor.

Tinkerbell looked positively horrified, and Emma wasn't impressed either. "Hey, you. Out!"

The cat didn't even look around at her words, but kept on eating. Emma had no choice but to pick him up, hoping like mad that he wasn't riddled with fleas, or worse. As she hoisted him away from the food he was so still so desperately trying to consume, she realised just how skinny he was. It felt like there was absolutely nothing between his skin and his bones.

"Oh great. A stray." Getting stuck taking it to the shelter was the last thing Emma wanted, but she couldn't just leave it to fend for itself. Its eyes were a faded orange with dark flecks through them, and it just looked old and desperately in need of a decent meal.

A meal that didn't belong to Tinkerbell.

But as Emma held the cat, gingerly, and wondered whether she should lock it in the bathroom while she fetched Tinkerbell's cat carrier, she noticed the glint of something around the cat's neck. There was a small red metal tag attached to a very scruffy collar that had possibly once been red also. Peering at the words engraved on it she could just make out his name. Mr Smee.

That was…possibly the worst name anyone had ever given a cat. Far, far worse than Tinkerbell, which, Emma reminded herself, hadn't even been her choice. She flicked the tag over with one finger while the cat in her arms let out another ear-splitting yowl, but there was no contact number or address on the opposite side. Nothing to let her know where the cat had come from.

But if he had a collar, then he had a home. Where there was, no doubt, a large bowl of his own food waiting for him. Without wasting any more time thinking about it, Emma walked to the front door, opened it, and put the cat outside.

"Goodbye, Mr Smee."

Job done, she ignored Tinkerbell's rather pitiful stares in favour of a shower and getting herself ready for the day. Showered, dressed and feeling somewhat more ready to start the day Emma returned to the kitchen only to find Mr Smee back in place.

For a moment, Emma thought that she was seeing things. But Tinkerbell was sporting an expression almost as bewildered as Emma's and the ear-splitting yowl with which Mr Smee chose to announce his presence sounded again.

"Son of a…" Emma muttered, picking the cat up again and putting him out the front door.

That time, the cat apparently got the message and Emma and Tinkerbell could eat their breakfast in peace.

Emma assumed that was the end of the matter; sure he might have strayed into her yard, and then her house, out of curiosity, but now that the cat knew he wasn't welcome, he wouldn't come back.

But he did. He came back the next morning. And the morning after. And then the afternoon after that. Twice again after dinner.

Emma was starting to get a little worried about him. He might not have been a stray, but was he clearly confused about where he lived.

"Do you think cats get, like, Alzheimer's disease?" Emma asked David, as they sat in the patrol car eating lunch.

"I don't know," he replied. "I guess. But you'd know better than I would. I mean, you like cats."

"I like my cat." That was true. Emma and Tinkerbell got along fine these days, but Emma had never taken to the mother cat that David and Mary Margaret had kept, the large blue-grey they'd called Bluebell. Mary Margaret thought she might have been some kind of pedigree, but Emma didn't think that made her any the more appealing. Maybe it was the way she liked to slalom through Emma's legs every time she arrived to visit, maybe it was Bluebell's insistence that if Emma hung her leather jacket on the back of a chair, it was clearly meant to be a replacement scratching post.

Maybe it was the fact that she never once seemed to wonder how her daughter was doing. Although Emma knew that cats didn't think like that, couldn't feel emotions like that, she still couldn't help herself believing that Bluebell just didn't care about Tinkerbell anymore.

And the thought made her a little sad.

But she had a whole other cat and his mental decline to worry about now, and she was at a loss as to what she could do for him. Surely someone was missing their rather elderly and possibly demented pet?

David didn't have any good advice on the subject, short of possibly asking the local vets if Mr Smee was their patient, and Emma resigned herself to making a few calls when she got home. It would be easier if she could figure out what house he might have come from, but her little cottage was right at the edge of town, near the water. One of a mirrored pair no doubt originally intended to be used by the families of the fishermen who'd once been the town's main industry.

But there was a lot less fishing going on these days, and the other cottage was usually rented out, short term, to people on vacation. Emma didn't pay much attention to the comings and goings in the place, afraid that if she accidentally mentioned its occupants to David, he'd attempt to set her up with whatever eligible guy lived there.

OK, well, that had happened _once_. And ended pretty badly when the guy, August, had finished the book he'd come to Storybrooke to write and had then packed up and left during the night. It wasn't like she was heartbroken over it; it wasn't even like it was the worst breakup she'd ever had.

In fact she'd been on a downhill slide since her ill-fated teenage romance with a drifter named Neal Cassidy whose inability to stay on the right side of the law had been their ultimate downfall. Since then notable dating disasters had included Emma falling for her boss at the station, only for Graham to realise that his heart still belonged with his ex and to up and leave town to be with her again. And last of all in the chain of break-ups that littered Emma Swan's dating life had been Walsh, the guy who made custom built furniture and sold it in town. The guy she'd pegged as being nice, and safe and everything she should be looking to settle down with.

And she hadn't even been all that upset when she discovered he'd taken up with that red-headed midwife with the rather nasty jealous streak on the side. No, by that stage she'd pretty much given up on the idea of romance, love or any of the other things that she was supposed to want so desperately. It just wasn't on the cards for her. Perhaps it was the case that her childhood spent in a variety of foster homes with a bunch of people who barely varied at all had left her with some deep-seated inability to actually…well, love anyone. She supposed that made sense; you couldn't feel an emotion unless you'd experienced it yourself.

She wasn't all that surprised then, by being left, again. And there certainly didn't seem to be any point to constantly banging her head against the brick wall that held her back from doing enough to stop anyone leaving her.

No wonder David and Mary Margaret had thought she needed a cat. And, actually, now that she thought about it, they hadn't even tried to set her up with anyone since they'd given her Tinkerbell.

Did they really think she was destined for life as a spinster? Is that what she wanted for herself? Emma realised that there were, perhaps, some hard questions she would have to face but right then was not the time to ponder them. Not as she pulled up to her cottage and noticed that, for the first time in months, a light was on inside the cottage opposite, and a dark coloured pick-up was parked outside, and a rather familiar orange shape was making its way away from the cottage in question and towards the front porch of her own place.

"Gotcha," Emma murmured to the interior of the car, as she pulled up and parked in her own driveway. She was amazed she hadn't thought of checking the rental for new occupants prior to this, but, in her defence, there'd been a real drive to clear up all the outstanding paperwork in the station and she'd been quite busy with work.

Mr Smee seemed a little perturbed when she scooped him up as he was rounding the side of her house; normally this didn't happen until he'd at least made it inside and managed to purloin some food to boot. He gave Emma a look over his shoulder that suggested she simply wasn't playing fair.

"Time to go home, buddy," she muttered as she marched across the street full of purpose and fired by a, in her mind, righteous indignation. The owners, whoever they were, were clearly defective letting such an elderly cat wander around by itself. She'd suggest that they took steps to remedy the situation, politely of course, and then that would be that. No more Mr Smee sneaking into her kitchen in the dead of night.

Tinkerbell would be ecstatic.

Emma knocked on the door, thankful that Mr Smee was so light she could easily manage him with one hand. If it was Tinkerbell she might have been in trouble. Tink had some weight on her these days, plus, she was prone to being wriggly if she was upset.

Whatever, or, more correctly whoever, Emma had expected to be on the other side of the door it certainly wasn't the man who opened it. She liked to think that she wasn't someone who was easily swayed by physical appearances. She wasn't someone who was easily swayed by _anything_. But this man, guy…whoever he was, had one of the most handsome faces Emma had ever seen. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a dusting of dark scruff across his jaw that just drew Emma's eyes towards his lips…

But he was a terrible cat owner. And that was what she was here to focus on.

"Yes?" he said, frowning. Emma caught the slight British accent as he spoke and she was hit with a brief flash of curiosity about who he was and where he'd come from.

_Focus, Emma_, she thought, before blurting out "I have your cat," so fast that it might as well have been one word instead of four.

The guy gave her an amused smile and his eyes raked over Emma. It caught her a little off guard. Surely he wasn't checking her out as she stood on his doorstep holding his half-dead cat in her arms?

No, he wasn't. As soon as he spoke again Emma realised what it was he'd been looking at; the uniform she was still wearing. Ridiculously, she wished she'd changed before coming over here, that her hair wasn't scraped back from her face quite so severely, that she had a little more makeup on, that she wasn't wearing her heaviest boots and a jacket that did absolutely nothing for her.

"Have you managed to get yourself arrested for vagrancy, Mr Smee?" he asked, looking at the cat and not at Emma. Mr Smee barely returned his gaze, preferring to look from side to side with great interest, as though this place was all new to him. It made Emma even more worried about the poor cat's mental acuity.

"I really don't spend my time arresting cats," she said, a little defensively. "I just wanted to say…well. Your cat. He keeps coming to my place, and upsetting my cat." That wasn't strictly true, of course. Mostly Tinkerbell watched Mr Smee from a wary distance, almost as though he was a drunk uncle at a Christmas party, one more shot of tequila away from potential embarrassment. She didn't mark her territory, she didn't raise a paw to him, and she'd only hissed once or twice.

But Mr Smee's owner didn't need to know any of that.

"I see," the guy replied, but he didn't say anything else and he didn't make any move to actually take Mr Smee from Emma's arms. She considered putting him down on the porch, but was worried that he'd just make an immediate run for her house again.

"Look, I get that he's…sick. But surely that means you just need to take better care of him?"

"Hyper-active thyroid."

"What?"

"That's his problem. Mr Smee's. He has a hyper-active thyroid. He's on medication for it, but it's tricky to get the right dose."

"Well…shouldn't you just, you know…" Emma felt like it would be inappropriate to say the words out loud, right by Mr Smee's ear. But she hoped the guy would pick up what she meant.

He didn't. "Do…what, now?"

"You know. Put him out of his misery." The frown that crossed the guy's face made Emma want to immediately retract her words because she'd clearly just made him miserable.

"Um…remind me not to put myself in your care when I'm sick. He's fine, really. He's just a little hungry all the time."

"Hungry? Poor Tinkerbell can't even get a look in now. Do you know how much extra I've had to spend in cat food in the last week?"

"I'm sorry? Tinkerbell?" The guy had gone from affronted to amused in about 0.3 seconds.

"I didn't name her. She came already named. And it would have been a shame to waste a perfectly good collar." Now Emma was back to defensive. "Look, just take the cat, and…and…just…" She took a deep breath, hoping to get her powers of speech back under control. "Just watch him, OK?"

She pushed Mr Smee into the guy's arms. Mr Smee didn't seem unhappy with the development, although he did let out a loud belch, filling the air rather unpleasantly with the smell of fish. "I will," Mr Smee's owner assured her, as he leant forward to peer at the badge pinned to her uniform. "Officer…E. Swan."

"Emma. It's Emma Swan."

"Lovely to meet you, Emma. It's nice to know the neighbours. I'm Killian. Killian Jones."

"OK. Good to, uh…meet you." The silence after Emma spoke was a little tense and she thought she should probably leave, but wasn't sure what the protocol was. However Mr Jones decided to fill in the silence for her.

"Well. Thanks, love. For looking after him for me."

"I'm not your love." The words were out of Emma's mouth before she thought about them too much and the guy, Killian Jones or whoever he was, looked taken aback at the vehemence with which she'd spoken.

"Just keep him at your place, OK?" Emma added in the slightly more professional but not all that less stern voice she used for warning people not to do anything stupid when she was on the job.

Emma nodded, but didn't say anything else. She just turned and walked away, pretending she couldn't feel him watching her as she crossed the street.

She thought that would be the end of the matter and that Mr Smee would stay on his own property from now on. And certainly he didn't make an appearance at all that night and Tinkerbell seemed slightly bewildered by that, constantly looking over her shoulder as she ate her cat food, perhaps wondering how long she'd have sole possession of her bowl.

Emma was also pondering the goings-on in the rented cottage, but for an entirely different reason. She was curious about Mr Smee's owner…just because she was, really. It was an odd feeling and one she didn't entirely trust.

But the peace that she and Tinkerbell enjoyed was shattered the next morning by a familiar clatter at the cat door followed by an even more familiar yowl as Mr Smee landed on the doormat.

"Really?" Emma asked him, but he didn't seem to have an answer to that. Emma hoped his owner did because he was going back home just as soon as she and Tinkerbell finished their cocoa. And if she maybe let Mr Smee have a taste of whipped cream, because, honestly, he was just skin and bones and needed fattening up, then she wasn't exactly going to confess that to Mr Jones.

He was just getting in his truck when Emma fronted up, Mr Smee once again in her arms. "You need to actually feed your cat occasionally." She shoved the cat in his direction which was a mistake because he wasn't expecting it and their arms ended up a little tangled with Mr Smee caught in the middle. It was all highly embarrassing, and, strangely, a little enjoyable.

"Oh, he's had breakfast," Mr Jones replied. "One of us ate all the bacon."

"Well _one of you_ finished it up with Tinkerbell's breakfast and my whipped cream, so I think he's done alright for himself."

Mr Jones put Mr Smee gently down on the porch and turned to face Emma. "He has. No one invited me for breakfast." He gave Emma a bright smile and she thought, briefly, that he looked even more handsome in full daylight than he had the night before.

Well, she wasn't going to be charmed by him. That was for certain.

"He wasn't invited. He just…barges in through the cat door. And then he yowls the place down and steals all the food."

"Ah, a cat flap. Well, cats will wander, love. There's not much you can do if you're not prepared to lock him out."

"I'm not your love." Emma turned and stalked off, feeling decidedly unsettled by the encounter. She was in the right, surely? She didn't have to put up with a strange cat wandering through her house and stealing food, and she certainly didn't have to stand there while some guy she barely knew called her love.

No, she was totally in the right on this one. And he was correct, she should just lock Mr Smee out.

Her experiment with locking the cat door did not go well. Tinkerbell refused to come anywhere near her when she finally got inside, Emma having not even realised she was standing out there. Emma could tell when Mr Smee wanted to come inside, however, as he yowled and banged the door and eventually managed to wedge a paw under the flap and nearly wrench it up.

Emma sighed, and relented. It just wasn't worth the bother. "Why are you here and not over there? With him?" she asked the cat, but he didn't an answer.

What she really wanted to ask was why Mr Jones was here in Storybrooke, and what he was currently doing, but that just seemed ridiculous. Like Mr Smee would know the answer to any of that.

She went to bed a little fed up with herself for being hung up on a guy when she really should know better and she awoke to a rustling in her kitchen pantry that turned out to be a very happy Mr Smee amid a pile of dry cat food he'd managed to tip out of its container at some point during the night.

Things clearly needed to change around here.

"I'm still having problems with that cat," Emma informed David, as they tidied away some evidence at the station.

"What? Tinkerbell?"

"No. The cat that keeps coming in. Mr Smee. I, uh…I found his owner. He's renting the cottage across from mine."

"Who? The cat?"

"Its owner." Emma was interested in what David knew about the guy, given he'd just come to town, but she wasn't letting on that she'd already done her research. From what she knew Killian Jones was employed as a contractor for the boat-building company owned by Eric Prince, the one that made all the really expensive yachts for people who got to sail to the Hamptons. Or Bermuda. Or anywhere, really.

David nodded, and then sighed when he realised the pickaxe he'd been filing had pierced through the plastic bag they'd stored it in. Turning to reach a fresh one he asked "Did you tell him to keep his cat inside?"

"He didn't seem inclined to lock him in. And, I mean…I don't know anything about the guy. I think he's just here temporarily. For one thing he's British…"

Emma waited to see what David's reaction to the news that there was a guy living opposite her, but he seemed far more interested in getting the pickaxe in the new plastic bag without ripping it. "You don't seem all that interested in him," Emma prompted in the end.

"Well, unless he's about to threaten anyone with a pickaxe then, no, I guess I'm not."

Emma sighed and tried to think of a way to phrase what she wanted to say without it seeming petulant, but it ended up sounding a little whiny anyway. "You used to try to set me up with them all."

"All, who?"

"Guys. People who came and rented one of the places. Anyone really. And then, I just realised the other day, you and Mary Margaret got me a cat and stopped doing all of that."

"Ah. Yes. Well, uh…" David's gaze shifted from the pickaxe to the wall and back again but he didn't meet Emma's eyes.

"What?" she prompted.

"You know…we discussed it…me and Mary Margaret and you always seemed a little prickly about it. So we figured you were fine. As you were. And you have Tinkerbell anyway, now."

Emma sighed and nodded, but couldn't bring herself to form any words that really agreed with David's assessment. For one thing, fine was not the same as happy.

And she couldn't honestly say that she was happy.

"But you know what you should do?" David said suddenly, and quite brightly.

"What?"

"Get one of those kits that make the cat door magnetic…so the cat has to wear a special magnet on its collar to open it, and other cats can't get in. If you get one, I'll help you fit that. That'll solve all your problems." David looked pleased with his solution and, although Emma wasn't convinced that it would, indeed, solve all her problems, she agreed anyway.

God forbid she be her usual prickly self about it.

Later on, when she walked around the corner to the bakery called Olaf's, craving something sweet and filling, she was still wondering why it made her feel so down that David and Mary Margaret had stopped even trying to find her someone. Sure, she hadn't always appreciated it. Sure, a lot of it had consisted on her going on absolutely pointless dates with guys she had nothing in common with. Sure, their one success was August Booth, and look how that ended?

But all the same, at least they were trying. At least it showed they cared…or something. Tinkerbell was nice enough, but mostly she cared about Emma being there to replenish her food and make sure the heating got turned on in winter. It wasn't quite the same.

The bakery's owner, Elsa Halverson, stopped kneading dough when Emma walked in and wiped her flour-dipped hands on her apron. "That kind of day, huh?"

Emma nodded, wondering if her misery was written that clearly on her face.

"I thought so. Nothing like a hard day at work to send you in search of a blueberry Danish." Elsa moved away from the area where she prepared the bread to the cabinet where she kept the sweet things. It was sadly depleted at this time of day. "Hmm, no blueberry. Can I interest you in a chocolate croissant?

Emma shrugged and then realised that wasn't a real answer. "Sure, Elsa. I might as well go all in."

Elsa gave her a long look over. "Chocolate's better for the heart anyway. At least, that's my sister's reasoning behind…well. Most of her chocolate consumption." Elsa put the croissant in a box and handed it to Emma.

"Oh. My heart's fine," she replied, passing over a couple of notes. "I mean…I guess I just got told I'm prickly so it's hard to find me a date. But, you know, that's not news."

"You're prickly Emma. But not un-dateable." Elsa smiled kindly and pushed her long silver-blonde braid back over her shoulder.

Emma didn't feel all that comforted. "So, how do you manage? I mean, no one's setting you up, either…not your sister, or anyone. And you're OK with that?"

"Sure I am." Elsa seemed to find the question surprising. "I'm really happy on my own."

Emma felt a little embarrassed about asking. "Of course you are. Yeah. I mean…I know. It's fine, really." She turned and started to walk out of the store.

"Emma?" The sound of Elsa calling her back made Emma turn around. "It's OK not to be…happy, that is. You don't have to just settle for what you have just because it's hard to believe you might deserve anything better."

"Yeah, uh…" Emma was more than just a little embarrassed now. She regretted bringing the subject up because of course it came back to her situation and, really, aside from learning that she was a little bit prickly she hadn't heard anything she didn't expect from David. Quite why it had made her feel so suddenly on edge and unsettled, she didn't know.

And expecting answers from a baker was just ridiculous.

"I'll see you around Elsa. Thanks for the croissant."

But the croissant didn't fix Emma's problems and nor did the upgrade to the cat door. Tinkerbell struggled to get the magnet on her collar to line up with the one David had fitted to the door and spent a lot of time banging on it in frustration while Mr Smee watched her curiously.

And then when Tinkerbell began bringing home discarded objects, it all became a little much for both Emma and her cat. Once again Emma found herself banging on the door of the rental cottage across the street.

Killian Jones answered the door looking as though she'd dragged him out of bed, which was a real possibility given the early hour. But she'd had enough, she really had, and she wasn't even going to allow herself a moment to appreciate how good he looked, all sort of warm and rumpled, and how that probably wasn't even fair given the current state of her own hair.

"I tried to keep him out," Emma blurted out, as Mr Jones squinted at her. "I got one of those magnetic things, for the cat door. But all that has happened is that Tinkerbell has brought home three paperclips, two rusty nails, something that might have come from a watch, and then, this morning, a teaspoon. The magnet on her collar doesn't work with that stuff stuck on it, and she can't get in. And she's so _miserable_, stuck outside and watching everyone else just…going on without her. Like they don't care that she's been left out. And do you know what the worst part is?"

Mr Jones shook his head and Emma continued on. "Mr Smee still got in. Through the bedroom window, I think. I woke up, and he was on the bed with me. I just…" She threw up her hands in resignation. "I don't know what to do anymore."

He regarded Emma for a moment and she suddenly felt exposed under his gaze. She didn't really need him to do anything, after all. She just wanted him to know about all the trouble Mr Smee was causing…mainly for Tinkerbell. It wasn't like he really cared, so, she'd just leave him to the rest of his day.

And she was about to flee the scene when Mr Jones scratched at the back of his head before speaking. "I'll fix it."

"What? How?"

"The…uh. Cat flap? I could take a look at it."

"You'll take the magnet off so Tinkerbell can use it again?"

"Well, I'd hate _Tinkerbell_ to be unhappy, so yes."

Emma thought for a moment. "OK. Fine. Good." She realised that she didn't sound overly grateful and tried to amend that. "I appreciate the offer, Mr Jones."

"It's Killian. Mr Jones is a bit…formal."

"Well…OK. But it feels a bit weird to be on a first name basis with you, and not with your cat."

Killian laughed at that. "He's a different generation, and a stickler for formalities."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for that. But you, know. I still appreciate you helping out."

There was a pause and then he continued. "Well, lucky for you it's Saturday so I'm at your disposal. Just give me half an hour to get dressed and I'll be over, alright?"

"Yes. Fine." Emma was feeling more than a little embarrassed now; partly due to the feeling she'd over-reacted to the whole situation, partly because Mr Jones had drawn attention to the fact he was only wearing a t-shirt and pyjama pants.

And Emma herself was similarly underdressed.

"I'll just…head back…and uh, see you. Later on," she stammered, walking backwards and gesturing over her shoulder at the same time, before turning away from him, hoping he didn't notice that she was blushing a little now.

"You will. And, uh, Emma?"

"Yes?" She looked back over her shoulder.

"I do like your pyjamas, love." With that he shut the door and she didn't get the chance to remind him that she, definitely, wasn't his love.

And it probably would have been churlish anyway, seeing as he was giving up part of his weekend to help her out.

Well, to put her cat door back to its previous state after her ill-fated attempts to keep his cat who kept sneaking into her house like some kind of geriatric ninja, she reminded herself.

He probably didn't deserve special treatment for that.

She'd definitely tell him if he said it again.

And in the meantime, she wasn't going to do anything special just because he was coming over. As it was the first Saturday Emma hadn't been scheduled to work in a while, and she'd planned to catch up on her laundry and housework. She definitely wasn't going to dress up as though he was a real guest; the tank top, old sweater and jean shorts she would have otherwise worn were just fine.

So if she was in the process of cleaning the kitchen counters when he arrived, then that was just because this was like any other Saturday.

"So, uh…this is your place," Killian said, looking around curiously as she led him down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the cottage.

"I think it's pretty much the same layout as where you're staying," Emma ventured, not sure if she should really give away the fact she'd been in the rental cottage previously.

"But this is less of a shithole."

"Well, there is that." The last time Emma had seen inside the rental it was looking pretty down at heel. She could only guess what a few more years had done to the place.

Killian looked a little sheepish. "I, uh…sorry. I probably shouldn't have been so blunt."

"Well, it's not my place you're calling a shithole. And I don't think you're wrong." Emma gave him what she hoped was a conciliatory smile, and he smiled back.

"OK, so I'll just get started then," Killian said, putting down the toolbox he'd brought with him, and opening the back door. Mr Smee must have been waiting outside as he immediately walked straight in, ignoring his actual owner and throwing himself at Emma's legs.

"He does seem quite at home here," Mr Jones commented.

"And that would be the problem."

"Yeah. You, uh…sure you want to change the cat flap?"

Emma pointed to the top of the kitchen cupboards. "I think you'll find that I'm not the one making the decision. The teaspoon was a bit much and she's freaked out. Also, she doesn't like strangers."

"I'm not that strange."

"Well. She won't come down while you're here, but she will appreciate the cat door being back to normal."

Killian nodded and crouched down to get to work. Emma drifted around the kitchen making some attempts to clean up, but mostly just watching. Eventually she gave up all pretence at housework and remained a silent observer. And that was at the point where Killian nearly skewered his hand with the screwdriver. "Ow!"

"Are you sure you're alright? I mean, you know what you're doing, there, don't you?"

"I work with my hands all day," he said, with a shrug. "I just normally don't have such interesting distractions." He gestured to Emma with the screwdriver.

"What? I'm just standing here!"

"Exactly. Who knew those legs were hiding under that ugly uniform?"

"Oh." Emma wasn't sure what to make of that, not the part about her uniform being ugly and definitely not the part about her legs. It was all a little confusing.

But, strangely, not as uncomfortable as it might have been.

There appeared to be no more mishaps with the procedure and, rather quickly Emma thought, Killian sat back on his heels and surveyed the cat door. "Done."

"Is it? Are you sure that's it and it'll work now?"

He jabbed the flap with the screwdriver and they both watched it swing freely back and forth. "I think it'll be fine. Tinkerbell won't have any more trouble." He looked over at where Mr Smee was sitting on the kitchen table. "Not from the cat flap, anyway."

Killian started gathering up the pieces he'd removed and packing away his tools and Emma cast around for something else to say. Probably 'thank you' would be the accepted thing, followed quickly by 'goodbye', and perhaps, in this instance, 'take your cat with you when you leave.'

But, for some reason that she wasn't going to press herself for, Emma didn't feel like saying any of that. And she definitely didn't feel like going back to her original plan for the morning of laundry and housework. So she did the one thing she did want to do.

"I was going to make some cocoa…do you, uh, want some?" she offered, as Killian stood up and brushed down the legs of his jeans.

"Are you afraid that if you don't offer me something I might steal the sandwich out of your hand?"

"Well, I'm assuming Mr Smee picked up his habits from somewhere. But no, I think I'm safe."

She waited to see what Killian's response would be and he took a moment to scrutinise her closely before he made up his mind. Emma felt a little exposed under his gaze but made the decision that this was her house, her kitchen and she wasn't going to hide from him.

Whatever it was he thought he was looking for, anyway. Possibly he was just trying to figure out what else she'd been hiding under the uniform. Her sweater was bulky enough, but it had slipped off one shoulder and she straightened it up.

"That would be most appreciated," he said, in the end, and Emma gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Fancy seeing you here," Killian added, dryly, to Mr Smee who was still stationed on the table. The cat ignored him, stretching out his back leg and, rather shakily, beginning to wash it.

"I have to say, he snores." Emma continued, adding the whipped cream to the top of the cocoa. "Like, really loudly. I didn't think cats did that. Do you think they can get sleep apnoea?"

She put a mug of cocoa in front of Killian and then sat opposite with her own.

"Thank you. But I have to say, I don't."

"Don't think they can get it? I'm pretty sure the way he sounds isn't normal."

Killian smiled at her over his mug, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I don't snore."

"Oh. Well I suppose that's…interesting." She looked away from Killian, afraid that if she kept getting sucked into his orbit then she'd be tempted to find out whether he was actually telling her the truth.

And she wasn't that desperate to not be alone. Not to the point of throwing herself at the first man who turned up and flirted with her.

Mr Smee had given up washing and was looking at Emma expectantly. Almost automatically she wiped a finger through the whipped cream on top of her cocoa and held it out to him, feeling the rough rasp of his tongue as he lapped it up.

"Did you just give my cat cream?"

That broke Emma out of her reverie about willpower. "What? No…I just." Realising she'd been caught and there wasn't any way to get out of it, Emma gave up. "Well, it's not like he's putting on any weight."

"How much cream have you been giving him?"

"Oh, only a taste. Now and then," Emma said, dismissively. "Just…well I always give some to Tinkerbell and I thought I shouldn't leave him out." It was a really terrible excuse on her part, and she knew it, but all the same, she held her chin up and almost dared Killian to call her on it.

If Mr Smee didn't keep coming into her house, it wouldn't have even been an issue, would it?

"No wonder he's over here all the time. All the treats he can eat, a place on the bed, gorgeous female company…"

Emma decided enough was enough. "You're laying it on a bit thick, you know?"

Killian pointed over his shoulder. "I meant Tinkerbell."

"Really? You're going to try to charm her now? I don't think she responds to flattery."

"Not even if I tell her that she has the loveliest green eyes. Almost as lovely as her owner's."

"Phfft. Well, she's still on the cupboard so I don't think it worked."

"Ah, but these things take time, don't you know?"

Emma didn't have a response to that at all, and the conversation was going down a road she didn't like the look of. She changed the subject. "So, how long are you in Storybrooke for?"

Killian shrugged. "I don't know…until the work runs out, I guess."

"And Mr Smee? He doesn't mind moving from place to place with you?"

"It's better, I suppose, than living on the streets where I found him. Well, at a marina. I'm not sure whether he was dumped off a boat or just left, but he was in a bad state when I took him in and he was just…" Killian looked down at where his fingers were tracing an imaginary pattern in the wood of Emma's kitchen table. "Grateful, I guess. I told him I'd look after him, and I'm doing my best to keep that promise."

Emma nodded. "They do, uh…keep you grounded. Cats, I mean."

"And you and Tinkerbell? You've been here a long time?"

Emma shook her head. "I moved here about nine years ago, I think? It's…OK. I mean, I've been worse places. Tinkerbell…she just needed a home when her mother didn't want her around anymore."

Killian raised his mug. "Well, to waifs and strays then."

"Waifs and strays," Emma echoed, tapping her mug against his.

They drank in silence for a while, which Emma was surprised to find wasn't all that unpleasant. She was used to just having Tinkerbell for company, and, lately, Mr Smee, but the addition of Killian didn't make her feel as though she had to be something she wasn't, which was how she often felt around strangers. Even without David helpfully pointing them out to her, she was well aware of her faults; too stern, too strange, and with absolutely no ability to put anyone at ease.

But if Killian noticed any of this about Emma, he was polite enough not to say. And his silence, the fact he didn't fill the space with chatter like others she knew did, simply made her more curious about the man sitting opposite.

He stood up and carried his mug to the sink, and, as he did so, Emma got a clear look at the tattoo on the inside of his arm and she felt compelled to ask him about it. It wasn't anything elaborate; just a heart with a dagger through it. But she was curious about the name inked underneath all the same.

"Who's Milah?"

She could pinpoint the moment his entire body tensed and Emma regretted asking the question. "It's for, um…" He hadn't turned around and was talking to the kitchen curtains, which was always a bad sign. From her perch up high on the cupboards Emma could swear that Tinkerbell was shaking her head at her, and she really didn't need the cat's disapproval to feel like a heel. She was about to tell Killian that it didn't really matter when he turned around and finished.

"She was my wife. But she's gone now. Leukaemia."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Emma knew it was inadequate response but she doubted that there was an adequate one for this situation. Mostly she just regretted causing him the pain of dredging up old memories. It wasn't something she relished and she couldn't even claim the same kind of tragedy, just a whole bunch of…emptiness, really.

"Well. Everyone leaves in the end, don't they?"

Emma wasn't sure whether he wanted her to agree with him or refute that statement, and mostly she just wondered how he could _know_. How he'd managed to look at her and understand that it was the most awful truth she knew, and the one that, no matter how much she fought, she found herself living by. Eventually, everyone would leave her, so what was the point in trying anymore?

Emma nodded, hoping that covered it. She wasn't about to show her own scars to this man, but they were no doubt obvious anyway. Especially with the way Killian was looking at her now.

"I'll take that as my cue to leave now, too," he said in the end, forcing a smile onto his face. He gathered up the toolbox, and then hefted a surprised looking Mr Smee under his arm. "Come on, let's leave the nice ladies to some peace and quiet."

He headed towards the front door and Emma followed, not sure she was really happy about him leaving but not at all ready to ask him to stay longer. She'd enjoyed the company, mostly because, she realised, it was just company. It wasn't another set-up orchestrated by David and Mary Margaret, and it definitely wasn't Emma pinning her hopes on another guy who was going to let her down.

It _definitely_ wasn't that, she reminded herself. Good-looking he might be, but he'd made it clear, hadn't he? Everyone leaves, and he'd be no exception.

In some ways, it was nice to have it out in the open.

"Well, thank you for your hospitality," he said, opening the front door. "I'd make Mr Smee say thanks, too, but he's a little shy."

Emma laughed, glad to have the sombre mood broken. "You know, he's not so bad. I guess. I mean…" she gave an off-hand shrug with one shoulder. "If he does get lonely, I guess he could come back over. As long as he remembers that, uh, Tinkerbell needs her space."

"I'm sure he could do that. He's not a bad old thing, really."

"No. He's not. And, uh, thanks. For the door. Tinkerbell will be a lot happier now."

"Good. I'd hate to think she was miserable."

"Well, she'll adjust. And maybe it's not bad for her, having someone new around."

Killian nodded, and started down the steps, still with Mr Smee tucked uncomplainingly under his arm. "Goodbye, love."

"Uh…Emma, remember? I think it's…well, it's less complicated. If I'm just Emma."

"OK. Goodbye, Emma, love."

"Bye." Emma watched him start crossing the street, and then closed her door. As she turned she nearly stood on Tinkerbell who had left her lookout post, perhaps out of curiosity, or perhaps just because she wanted to make sure that Mr Smee was gone for good.

"He might come back," Emma said. "And I don't know, but I don't think he's that bad? Do you?"

Tinkerbell flicked her tail in a way that suggested she was less than impressed and then led Emma back down to the kitchen to where the pile of laundry was still waiting. It was less than fifteen minutes later that the bang of the cat door flap alerted her to the fact they were no longer alone and that Mr Smee had escaped his owner's clutches.

Emma supposed they'd have to get used to that.

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**OK, so when I said this was going to be two parts I **_**lied**_**. I do that from time to time, but just don't tell my kids (because I am still maintaining that I have no clue where the last of the Christmas fudge went). This story is now likely to be three parts, plus an epilogue. So, chocolatecrackle, I hope you're enjoying your upsized pressie (and enjoying the holiday break) :D**

**For those waiting patiently for more **_**Prairie Lullaby**_** I will get back to it just as soon as I finish this one up. I promise (and I do keep my promises).**

**Disclaimer: None of the recognisable characters belong to me. **

After the debacle with the cat door, it seemed like Emma and Tinkerbell had no choice but to accept that Mr Smee was a part of their lives now. And, really, he wasn't _so_ bad. Once you got past the horrifically loud yowling, and the less than fragrant body odours it wasn't the worst thing in the world having him visit from time to time.

And, in addition, it wasn't the worst thing if Mr Smee's owner visited from time to time, either. It was silly not to extend an invitation, or two, to Killian when their paths crossed. He seemed more than happy to join Emma for the odd cup of coffee, or beer, or whatever she was offering because, as he'd pointed out, he was living in a shithole.

She was merely being nice. Neighbourly, even. At least that's how Emma would describe it if anyone knew about the fact she occasionally spent time with her new neighbour. But they didn't, because, Emma had discovered, no one much cared to ask her about her personal life. David was unusually preoccupied with something going at home that he didn't want to share and there wasn't really anyone else Emma normally confided in. Sure, Elsa was nice enough, but Emma had no desire to discuss the ins and outs of her life as she purchased a blueberry Danish.

And, actually, she hadn't been into the bakery all that often in the last couple of weeks. Emma supposed she'd just been…busy with other things. Like buying cat food and just…stuff.

Today, for instance, she'd had a day off and had bought, and cooked, an entire roast chicken. Emma couldn't really remember the last time she'd done anything like that…perhaps only once or twice in her adult life. It wasn't often, after all, that she had someone to cook for, other than herself. And she generally didn't bother all that much with cooking.

But she had some time to kill and the chicken was on sale and she had someone to cook for these days, well two someones, because what cat would turn up its nose at roast chicken? Mr Smee needed fattening up and if she had some treats to feed him, then he'd leave Tinkerbell's food alone.

Well, he wouldn't, of course. He seemed to be a bottomless pit as far as food was concerned. But Emma was never one to give up on a challenge, and there had to be _something_ that Mr Smee liked more than Tinkerbell's cat food.

Only a whole chicken was a lot of food for one person and two cats, even if one of those cats was blessed with the ability to eat more than his bodyweight in dry cat food.

And when she heard the sound of Killian's truck arriving back at the cottage across the road, it seemed like the perfect solution to the dilemma of too much food in Emma's kitchen. At least, that was how she phrased it in her own mind. What came out of her mouth was something completely different.

"Hey!" she yelled from the small porch at the front of her cottage. "I already have Mr Smee here, so you might as well come over too."

Killian turned around and leaned against the cab of his truck. "You know, I can't tell if that's a ransom demand or an invitation," he called back.

Emma huffed a little; this wasn't quite how she thought it was going to go. "Do you want dinner, or not?"

"Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse? Give me five minutes and I'll be over."

Satisfied that the message had got through, Emma went back inside the cottage and checked on the chicken in the oven, although opening the door proved difficult due to Mr Smee's almost complete refusal to move from his spot in front of it.

"If you're hoping that I'm going to trip over you and drop the entire chicken on your head, you're out of luck," Emma muttered, dragging Mr Smee out of the way while he yowled loudly in complaint.

"Just wait until it's done." Emma peered at the chicken not exactly certain herself when that moment would be, and closed the oven door again, only to watch her kitchen door open of its own accord, which confused her for a moment until she realised who it was.

"Well, I'm glad to see that Mr Smee isn't being held at gunpoint," Killian said, as he closed the door behind him. Emma smiled at that although she thought that her effort to appear amused by his quip was probably a little weak. Mostly she was trying to work out how she felt about him just walking straight in the door. Like he was Mr Smee.

Killian, unfortunately, picked up on her reticence. "I just… I thought it would be easier to just come round, and the door was unlocked…"

Emma waved him away with her hand. "No. It's fine. Really. I was just…distracted by the chicken."

"It smells good. Here, I brought this." Killian held out a bottle.

"Rum?"

"Yes. I realise that wine is the more accepted gift in these circumstances, but this is all I had." Killian watched as Emma took the bottle from him and placed it on the counter. It seemed a little…odd. And she was getting a bad feeling about this.

"Hey, so, uh. This is just…um. Casual, because I made the whole chicken and stuff…so, yeah. You know?" He knew, he had to know. After all, hadn't Killian been the one to point out that everyone leaves?

So this, this wasn't anything resembling a date because that would just be the stupidest thing for two people like them to ever do.

"Oh. Of course," Killian said with a shrug, just as Mr Smee came over from where he'd been pushed to and wound himself around Emma's legs. "Ah, well. Looks like Stockholm syndrome has set in. I was going to stage a dashing rescue, but I don't think it'll be appreciated."

"I seriously wouldn't try to remove the creature with claws and fangs from the room with the chicken smell if you want to keep all your appendages."

They both laughed and the strange thing was, at least as far as Emma was concerned, it wasn't all that awkward. Of course it wasn't, because she'd been right and he _knew_. Knew that whatever this was, it wasn't in any way romantic.

It was nice to be on the same page as someone.

And to be able to hand over the job of mashing the potatoes to someone. And to have a second opinion on whether the chicken was, in fact, done. And to have some reassurance that the fact the spoon could almost stand up on its own in the gravy was a good sign.

All of that was nice, and none of it was on offer when her only two companions were feline. Most of all, though, Emma really appreciated the chance to have an actual conversation with someone who could communicate in something other than a yowl.

"So how did you get on, with that thing at the pawn shop?" Killian asked, while attempting to actually pour the gravy on his dinner.

Emma removed Mr Smee's claws from her leg and tried to answer without interruption. "Oh. Yeah. Well we went back yesterday."

"You and your mate…Dave?"

"David. And I doubt he'd describe himself as a _mate_." Mr Smee made another attempt to climb Emma and she held up a finger in warning. "I said you'd get yours later on."

"Patience is not one of his virtues. And I don't sound like that when I say mate." Killian helped himself to a large helping of potatoes, before pointing to the potato mountain he'd created with the serving spoon. "As promised the consistency is perfect."

"Is that a dig at the gravy?"

"I would never stoop so low. Despite the fact you seem to think my accent is fair game."

"Well, it is fair game. And, Mr Smee, I am not. Claws away, please!"

"I think you're going to have to give him some now," Killian mused.

"Yeah. I think you're right." Emma stood up. "But don't steal all the potatoes while my back's turned. Seriously, I've been in enough group homes to know how to defend my share of the potatoes when it comes down to it. And these days I have access to better weapons. Be warned!" She pointed a finger at Killian before turning to face the counter. Emma located a spare saucer and put a few pieces of chicken on it, before setting it down beside Mr Smee who, in his excitement, practically knocked it out of her hand.

"I wouldn't dream of it, love." His voice, as she returned to her seat was subdued and there was something in his eyes that looked troubled and Emma wondered, for a moment, if maybe she shouldn't have snuck some stuffing onto Mr Smee's saucer as well as the chicken, and then she realised what had happened.

_Oh. Stupid, stupid Emma. Shouldn't have mentioned the foster homes and just…ruined the dinner_.

She picked up her knife and fork, not meeting Killian's eyes and, after clearing her throat, tried to pick up her story where she'd left off. "The pawn shop, right? I was going to tell you. It was the wife all along."

"The…wife?"

"Yeah. She was the one taking all those items he'd reported missing. Turns out she was hoarding it all in the hope of being able to sell it somewhere and set up a little nest egg so she could get away from him." Emma shoved a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed it, not making eye contact with Killian.

"Sounds a delightful situation," he commented.

"Yep." Emma speared some of the green beans. "I don't know how people do it…just, throw themselves into marriage, or a relationship, or…whatever. And just hope that it'll turn out alright. I mean, don't they know what could happen? How they could just be duped into being with someone who isn't the person they wanted? It all just seems a huge gamble to me."

Emma risked a glance over at Killian and immediately wished she could take it all back. _Shit. _Of course she shouldn't have started spouting off about marriage to a guy who'd lost his wife. He'd probably give anything just to have the chance to hope for a happy ending, or whatever, again. And now he never would.

She was a complete idiot. And she didn't know what to say. There was silence for a few moments, during which time Emma was the only one eating, and then Killian spoke again. "I guess you never can tell what goes on behind closed doors."

"No," Emma agreed, as she watched him pick up his knife and fork once more. Grateful that the thread of the conversation had been picked up again, she barrelled on without thinking. "No. It's, uh…I was just glad there were no kids involved. I mean, it's one thing getting her to a safe place…she's staying with the Lucas's now, but kids. You just…you want them to be safe but there's always that fear that you're just taking them to something…worse."

Emma stopped suddenly and realised that she had accidentally wandered into a whole other topic of conversation that just hit far too close to home and which she had no desire to discuss at length with anyone, lest of all Killian.

But he didn't press her for some sordid exposition of her own history. Instead he nodded, briefly, and still seemed to be somewhere else. "It's never easy. For any of those involved. If you're one of the ones left in a bad home…even if it doesn't seem that bad from the outside. I mean, I guess that's not much of a life, either."

"No," Emma agreed. "It wouldn't be…but I guess it's still family, and that's important?" She hadn't meant that to be a question, but the truth of the matter was that she had no real evidence one way or the other. She'd spent her life watching families, but always from the outside and maybe that meant her perspective was completely screwed.

"Ah, well. That's the trouble isn't it? When it goes wrong…" Killian paused and shook his head. "Well, I'm sure you've seen it at its worst."

Emma had, indeed, seen a lot of families who were slowly ripping each other apart. It wasn't, she suspected, quite the same as living it day to day. But she didn't want to get into the situation of trading war stories with the guy who lived across the road, because that would just do no one any good. So they both had scars, so what? Everyone did.

The best thing she could think of at that moment was just to back out of the conversation completely. "So, anyway." Emma pushed her fork through her potatoes. "You know not to talk about this stuff, right? I mean, it's a pretty small town, and everyone probably knows by now, but I can't be seen to be spilling everyone's secrets." Emma shrugged. "But I guess it doesn't matter so much because you're leaving soon, and you can take all the secrets with you."

"Leaving? Oh. Yes, I suppose." Killian didn't sound sure and that rang some alarm bells with Emma because he'd said it himself; everyone leaves. And the guy sitting opposite her, the guy with the temporary job and the rented cottage was hardly likely to be the exception to that rule.

Not entirely certain as to whether they'd reached a comfortable agreement or she'd merely managed to create an uncomfortable silence, Emma went back to eating her dinner. At least for as long as it took Mr Smee to finish up his chicken and start yowling and standing repeatedly on the saucer he'd just been using.

"No more for you," she warned him.

"Tinkerbell won't venture down for anything?" Killian asked, looking at where Tinkerbell was perched high on top of the cupboards, and Emma shook her head.

"No. Not while you're here. She doesn't really like strangers."

"I'm not that strange," he replied, softly. "Perhaps she just has to give me a chance and she'd know?"

"Well, perhaps. But I don't like your chances. After all not even the chicken has brought her down to our level. I'm not sure you're the same drawcard."

"No," he replied, somewhat ruefully. "It seems that I am not."

Emma watched as Killian glanced up at Tinkerbell again, and then his eyes travelled around the kitchen and back to Emma. "It's bigger."

"What is?" She knew her cat was bigger than his, but Mr Smee was ill and Tinkerbell was, well…plush. Cuddly, maybe. At any rate, you wouldn't say _fat_.

"Your kitchen. Bigger than the one in the cottage I'm staying in, anyway."

Emma nodded while chewing some chicken. This felt like a much safer topic and one she was more than happy to launch into. "Yeah. There was a little porch originally, through there. Walled in, but not really part of the main house. And I had the wall knocked through and the kitchen extended out."

"It makes a big difference. You know, it's a little frustrating living over there and knowing what they could do with the place but just not being able to do it myself."

"I guess it would be." If it had been anyone else she might have suggested that Killian try to buy the place if he was so keen on renovating, but what was the point? He was going and it'd be rented out again, eventually.

She was going to miss Mr Smee.

When dinner was over Killian helped clear away the leftovers and wash the dishes and things felt a little easier between them, with none of that strange tension that Emma had managed to introduce with her ramblings earlier on. Words were not her strong suit, she'd always been aware of that. But this, just being around Killian, that was easier. And dodging the soap bubbles he flicked her way as he washed made her laugh in a way that she hadn't in a very long time.

Far, far too long to think about.

When the clean-up was completed, and Mr Smee had been bribed with a second helping to prevent him from causing some kind of terrible kitchen accident, they moved into the living room with a glass of rum each.

It had seemed to Emma that she should actually offer him the gift he'd brought. And, therefore, ask him to stay a bit longer. Well, you didn't want someone to wash your dishes and then immediately kick them out into the night, did you?

And Mr Smee was here now, probably looking for somewhere to sleep, his appetite temporarily sated by two helpings of chicken and some of the lumpy gravy that Killian had let Mr Smee lick from his finger. So it made sense for Killian to stay, at least for a while.

Killian led the way to the living room, poking the wainscoting and running his hand over the wallpaper as he did so. Emma had been a little distracted by his examination of the door handle as they entered the room and didn't pay attention to where he was about to sit down. It was only because she grabbed Killian's shoulder and hauled him backwards that she was able to stop him sitting in the old armchair.

"You can't sit there!"

Killian peered at the chair in question. "Please don't tell me that Mr Smee has his own assigned sleeping space."

"Well. No. Not really. But the sofa is navy."

"It is indeed," Killian replied, giving off a distinct impression that he was humouring her.

"So…? Ginger cats and navy do not mix. I've had to persuade him to sit on the chair instead. See? That's why it has the fuzzy blanket on it. He likes the blanket. But if you sit on it, you'll end up covered in his fur. He's shedding really badly. Is that with the hyper-thingee?"

"No, I think that's just old age. So…he doesn't have his own chair, but he does have his own blanket?"

"Well. Sort of. I mean, at least that I can throw in the washing machine."

"OK." There was an awkward pause where Emma wondered why Killian wasn't sitting on the sofa now the matter of the chair had been cleared up, and then discovered that she was still holding onto his arm.

"Oh. Yeah. Have a seat!" She removed the offending hand and gestured to the sofa, watched him sit and then realised that, as the chair was off limits, she was stuck sitting beside him. And she did, cursing inwardly that the proportions of the cottage hadn't allowed her to spring for a larger sofa.

"So…how's work?" Emma asked, trying to cover up her embarrassment and hoping for something to distract her from the very distracting closeness of Killian. Mr Smee following them into the living room and clawing at the chair until she gave him a helping hand to jump up gave her something else to focus on briefly, but otherwise she was left staring at how close her knee was to Killian's and just how much _space_ he seemed to occupy on the sofa.

And the odd thing was, were it anyone else she would absolutely bristle with indignation at them taking up so much room. Probably she would have let them sit on the furry blanket in the first place. But Killian…with him it wasn't so bad. And she found that she almost, _almost_, wanted to get a little closer.

He had very nice forearms, she thought. She didn't even really know that was a thing, or a thing that she liked. But she did. On him.

But, Emma realised a little belatedly, she'd asked him a question and he was being polite enough to answer it and she really should pay attention to what he was saying.

"It's…uh." Killian shrugged. "Much like it is anywhere, love. Mostly the same old drudgery dressed up in a new location."

"Right. Yeah. Guess it doesn't matter, then. Where you are."

"Well, it's the people who make all the difference."

"And the people here are…?" Emma definitely hoped that this wasn't going to be an excuse for him to spout off some cheesy line designed to get her into bed. But all the same, she was curious and if he happened to mention that he…_maybe_, enjoyed her company then it wouldn't hurt to know that would it?

"Well I think Leroy is warming up to me," Killian said with a laugh, before taking a sip of his rum.

"Leroy? Yeah. Well…that's good. I'm not sure he's taken to me yet. I mean…last time I tried to break up a fight he was in, he tried to punch me."

"I wouldn't put it past him, love. But I've no doubt you managed to dodge the blow. You seemed pretty quick on your feet in the kitchen."

"Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess." Emma felt uncomfortable with what might be termed praise. At least she thought it was. Better to move the conversation on. "So…what makes you think he likes you?"

"He has, in fact, been gracing me with lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Indeed. Home cooking even." Killian raised an eyebrow.

"But…why?" Emma couldn't figure out why Leroy, who was known for being gruff to the point of downright abrasiveness, would suddenly take such a shine to Killian. And she prided herself on usually being able to figure out people's motivations.

"Well it took me a while to cotton on," Killian conceded. "But then I realised that Leroy's wife Astrid is vegan. And I don't know how long Leroy has been eating her special nut loaf, but I have to say that the novelty, for me, wore off after a couple of days."

The pieces clicked into place for Emma. "And you're the excuse he gives himself to go and buy lunch."

"It would seem so. I have heard that he's very fond of the lunch specials at Granny's diner."

"Mmm," Emma said, trying to remain diplomatic, before taking a sip of her own rum and enjoying the slight burn as she swallowed. "I guess if your alternative is vegan nut loaf they would seem appealing. But they are a bit…hit and miss, I guess is the nice way to put it."

Killian clearly had no qualms about being more forthright on the matter. "The tuna casserole is awful." He shuddered, dramatically and Emma laughed.

"It is, isn't it? I brought mine home once and not even Tinkerbell would eat it."

As though mention of her name had summoned her, there was the tinkling of a small bell, and Tinkerbell appeared on the back on the sofa staring down at them. "Hello, love," Killian said in a soft voice that made Emma feel a little…well jealous wasn't the right term because Tinkerbell was a cat, her cat, and the fact he was being nice to her was just because he was probably nice to all cats. You only had to look at Mr Smee, or, rather, listen to the snores that were currently escaping him to realise that Killian clearly had a soft spot for cats.

But despite knowing all of that Emma still felt the bristling of something under her skin when he'd called Tinkerbell love. Because no one here was his love, and it would be so much better if he stopped using that term at all.

Killian reached out his fingers and Tinkerbell sniffed them, and then allowed him to rub her cheek, as though she was a great ruler allowing a subject to pay fealty to her.

Tinkerbell had been really, thoroughly spoiled in her short life, Emma thought.

"See? I said she'd get used to me in time," Killian murmured, looking utterly transfixed.

"She won't come any closer, so don't expect that. She doesn't really like people…and she won't sit on a lap, or anything. She doesn't do the lap thing. It's not her. She's kind of aloof like that."

"Well, that's OK. I don't mind aloof." Killian removed his hand from Tinkerbell, who looked annoyed, and turned back to Emma.

"That's what everyone says. And then, you know, it just gets boring and they move on."

"I'm not that fickle."

"Fine. Well, you just sit there and see if she comes any closer."

"Alright. I will."

Emma drank some more rum and realised that she had just goaded Killian into staying put on her sofa for an indeterminate amount of time. Had he tricked her into doing that just so he could stay? She ran through the conversation in her mind but couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when he might have done it. Still, whoever the fault lay with, the result was the same. He was now looking quite happily ensconced in much the same way that Mr Smee was stretching out in the armchair he occupied.

It didn't seem that either of them were leaving any time soon and Emma didn't know how she felt about that. She switched on the TV.

Half-way through the police procedural show they ended up watching, one of the dumb ones where the sexual tension between the leads seemed to give them free rein to not actually do any proper police work, Tinkerbell stretched out a paw and touched Killian's shoulder with it. Emma pretended not to notice the grin of triumph he threw her way and went back to listing in her head all the ways that the evidence had been contaminated by the dumbasses on the show.

But Tinkerbell's movements didn't stop there and Emma was forced to turn her gaze from the TV and watch as the cat slowly lowered herself from Killian's shoulder, walked down his chest and finally settled in his lap. Like she did that all the time.

"I definitely think she likes me now," he said, more than a little gleefully. He stroked her back and Tinkerbell started purring so loudly it was like having a lawnmower in the room with them.

"I think she's just proving a point. Like maybe she wants Mr Smee to get jealous."

"I don't know if cats really think like that. But if they did, then her point is being missed because Mr Smee is fast asleep and that twitch…see? That one. I think that means he's dreaming. Or possibly about to fart. Or both knowing him. I don't think he really cares what Tinkerbell is doing. Not when he has the special blanket that the very kind lady who lives here put out for him."

"That was just for couch preservation purposes."

"I guess it's lucky for me then, that I don't shed."

Emma was tempted to run her hand through Killian's hair, just to test that statement. But she didn't, she held on very tight to her glass and turned back to the TV.

"I bet you do though." That made Emma look over at Killian again.

"What?" she asked.

"You. Shed. I'm sure I saw some blonde hairs on the sofa."

Emma twisted around to look. "Probably."

And then Killian did the thing that Emma, very carefully, hadn't done because sitting close together on the sofa was one thing, and touching was something else again. He reached out and ran a hand through her hair, which was loose for once because she hadn't worked today and, maybe, just because she knew it was her best feature.

"I'm sure Tinkerbell puts up with it, though," he murmured, continuing to twirl some of the strands around his finger while Emma stayed as still as she could. She was oddly aware of her breathing and her heart beating, as though they were new occurrences and not the usual drum beat playing in the background of her life.

Killian turned back to the television, but his fingers remained entwined in her hair and Emma couldn't exactly push him away. Not when Tinkerbell was next to her, on his lap, purring and generally showing Emma that she was happy with him. Emma would have felt like a grouch complaining when her cat wasn't.

So she just let him. It wasn't so bad, really. And he didn't push it, or try anything else. Just like he wasn't trying to move from scratching behind Tinkerbell's ear to rubbing her belly when they really weren't at that stage yet, he didn't suddenly put his arm about Emma, or hold her hand or do anything that could be construed as trying to seduce her.

And Emma appreciated that.

Mostly she appreciated that, because there was one small part that wondered, in an abstract fashion, what it would be like if he did try it.

Probably just because it was so long since she'd been in that situation with anyone, and he was here now. So it wasn't that he was special, she was just lonely.

And Emma was willing to admit that much to herself.

All too soon, Emma felt, the show they were half-watching finished, Mr Smee rolled over and sat up and looked around blearily and Killian sat up straighter, causing Tinkerbell to jump to the floor with a tinkle of her bell that sounded, to Emma's ears, a little annoyed.

"Well, I suppose we should leave you lovely ladies in peace," Killian said, stretching his arms up. Emma tried not to stare at the way the movement made his shirt ride up and expose the skin around his hipbone. Nope. Not doing it.

That way lay danger.

Emma was about to open her mouth to say that, really, he could leave Mr Smee where he was if he wanted because the cat seemed pretty comfortable, but it hit her suddenly how futile that was. She could pretend Mr Smee was hers, for a while, but he'd leave soon too because he'd go with Killian. And then there'd be no one here to share her couch and let her play at having something more.

Better to just let it all go now.

"Yes. I guess so. Work in the morning!" Emma smiled as brightly as she could under the circumstances.

"And it's a big day for Mr Smee. He's back to the vet's. See if we can't get the medication sorted, eh? And then you won't be such a bloody pain in the arse for Emma."

"Oh. Well, that's good. If he's getting fixed up, I guess. But you know. He can come over any time, even if he's not ravenous. His company's not so bad."

Emma locked eyes with Killian and they stayed like that for a few seconds more than might be comfortable in other circumstances. In this situation it was only slightly unnerving, as though he was looking at her and really seeing her, truly seeing all her fears and her disappointments and the baggage that she dragged around from place to place.

But Emma found that she didn't really mind it all that much.

In the end, it was Killian who broke the silence, with a most unexpected comment. "You have a very kind heart, Emma Swan."

Almost instantly Emma waved her hands in front of her face, as though his words were things she could bat away. "Phfft. I'm not a kind person. Really. I'm a very prickly person with access to firearms."

"No. You're not. You care about Mr Smee and you gave Tinkerbell a home and you shouldn't sell yourself short."

Emma didn't really know how to refute that statement, although she didn't for a moment believe it was true. Sure, she might be nice to a couple of cats but that didn't mean she was out there doing good works all the time.

Killian stood up and scooped a surprised looking Mr Smee off of the chair, and Emma followed him to the front door. In the cramped narrow hallway she leaned forward to give Mr Smee a parting scratch behind the ear and found her face suddenly very, very close to Killian's. She could kiss him, she reasoned, if she wanted to. And he did smell nice; clean and spicy at the same time. Plus he looked like he'd be a good kisser. He had a nice mouth and she could see his tongue run along the inside of his lips and it wouldn't be so bad, to just kiss someone. It had been a long time since she'd kissed anyone.

But Mr Smee let out a rather impatient yowl and the moment was lost. "You'd better get him home."

"I suppose. Goodnight, Emma who is _definitely_ not my love."

Emma smiled at him, although she felt a little disappointed with her new title. Still, she managed to shake it off and wish both Killian, and Mr Smee goodbye and good luck for the visit to the vet, before she closed the door behind them.

And if Tinkerbell then wandered into the hallway and swished her tail in a way that suggested she thought Emma was an idiot for letting him leave, then she wasn't going to pay any attention to it. After all, Tinkerbell wouldn't feel nearly so kindly towards Killian if she had to give up her pillow to him.

Emma wasn't sure where that thought came from. But it was a purely ridiculous notion. It was never going to happen.

Ever.

She had thought that perhaps after Mr Smee's check-up she might get an update on how he'd done. Just a casual thing, if she ran into Killian, of course. But she didn't. Whenever she left for work or got home his truck was conspicuously absent from the driveway of the rental. And, even more oddly, Emma didn't see Mr Smee for two whole days either.

It was…unsettling, after all this time.

She tried to broach the subject with David, when they were at work, but Emma wasn't sure how to introduce the subject. Somehow saying 'hey, I thought this cat really liked me, but it turned out he can get better chicken elsewhere' wasn't going to cut it. Instead she started with something a little less, well, stalker-ish.

"So that cat that was hanging around? The elderly one? Seems like he might be on the mend now because he hasn't been around much."

"Well. That's good."

"Yeah…I guess." Emma wasn't at all sure and if it showed in her voice, then David wasn't picking up on it.

"The guy he belonged to, the one renting that other cottage, he's working down at the boat building yard?"

"Um. Yeah."

David nodded, like it all made sense to him now. "Well, I think their work is about to dry up. Maybe he just got him put down?" Emma didn't reply to that, couldn't reply to that because to leap to Killian's defence would just be silly, wouldn't it? And really, David was right. He was just a guy who'd come to town for a while to do some work. Who really knew what he'd do with his cat when that was over?

"Oh hell," David continued. "And today's pay day which means all those guys will be down at the Rabbit Hole tonight. I guess it'll end the same as it usually does; in a fight."

"Are you working tonight as well?" Emma asked.

"Yep. Gotta keep saving if we want a new place…well, you know. We should really get a foot on the property ladder while we can, and prices have been pretty reasonable around here. We had a realtor come and look at the loft, and she thought we should keep it as a rental property and write off expenses against it. But I don't know. Sounds complicated. I just want to get something with a yard." David looked a little wistful, and then he caught himself, and coughed. "You know. More land, better investment."

"Oh. Well, sure." David had been stuck on the bandwagon about property investment for a while now and Emma had already heard all of the arguments he'd presented as to why he and Mary Margaret should move out of the loft apartment they currently occupied. Mostly they seemed sound, but she couldn't escape the feeling that really 'we want a bigger place' would have covered it without all the justifications he kept wanting to add.

"Still, won't be the same if you're not living on main street," Emma mused, her thoughts mostly elsewhere.

"No. But then nothing stays the same forever, Em. And sometimes it's just time to move on."

That brought Emma back to the here and now with a rather rapid jolt, but she couldn't really articulate why; it was just a feeling that she'd had for a while now. A feeling that somehow she was stuck in place while the world whirled on around her.

It made her feel seasick, and heartsick and just generally, well, a little angry.

"David, you just got a coffee stain on that report I typed! Give it to me." She snatched the offending bundle of papers off David's desk and, while her curtness stopped him talking, his words still echoed in her head.

She was still feeling out of sorts when she arrived home that night and noticed that, once again, the place across the street was deserted and dark. It was to be expected; Killian was no doubt at the Rabbit Hole with his co-workers.

But try as she might she couldn't stop thinking about Mr Smee. Or, to be more specific, worrying about Mr Smee. Was he over there all alone? Was anyone giving him his medication?

Was he lonely?

Tinkerbell wandered around the living room and sniffed at the blanket that Mr Smee had used, but didn't stay. Emma tried to concentrate on the program on TV, but it was one of those complicated ones, with three seasons of back-story and flashback built up and Emma had no clue anymore as to who had betrayed who and whether the mysterious benefactor of the plucky heroine was a bad guy or a good guy.

And once upon a time, she'd loved that show.

She was about to give up and go to bed and see if Tinkerbell would join her when she heard the crunch of tyres that announced Killian's arrival home. She switched off the TV and hesitated for a moment before standing up and leaving the house so fast that she almost surprised herself. Half-way across the street she hesitated, and nearly turned back, but she pressed on because she needed to know that Mr Smee was OK and he hadn't just been tossed aside as an inconvenience.

It took Killian a few moments to get the door open after she knocked. It appeared to be stuck and she was torn between helping him by shoving it with her shoulder or giving up and going home. Either way the moment was painful and embarrassing and she just…shouldn't have come at all.

"Emma?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi. Listen I…" Killian cut her off before she could get to the speech she hadn't rehearsed at all. A part of her was grateful for the extra time to gather her thoughts, but mostly she just wanted to get it over with.

"Come in." He gestured with his arm, pointing down the hall and Emma couldn't think for a moment why she shouldn't step inside. And so she did.

It was only afterwards, when the door closed behind her and she found herself standing in a small, dark space with Killian right behind her that she could think of a dozen reasons why this was not a good idea.

"I should have said to use the back door," he continued, seemingly unperturbed by her sudden arrival. "The front door's buggered. Wood's warped."

"Oh. Right. Well, I don't want to intrude."

"Not at all. Anytime. My door is always open. Well, eventually anyway. Come on through."

Killian squeezed past her and led the way to the kitchen which was indeed, Emma noted, smaller than hers. Also the walls were papered in a brown and yellow paisley pattern and the countertops were a particular shade of orange Formica that hadn't been seen since about 1977. It was all horrible.

But there, in the centre of the counter with his face buried in his food was Mr Smee, and Emma's heart felt lighter, somehow, at the sight of him. Although he was eating out of a takeout container with the words _Any Given Sundae_ written in rather large letters along the side.

"Is he eating ice cream?" she asked Killian.

"Uh…frozen yoghurt. He is very fond of it."

"Right. Yeah. OK. Well, it's him I came to see really…or ask about. I just wondered how he got on with his check-up." Emma tore herself away from looking at the cat and went back to looking at his owner, which was a mistake. Once again she felt exposed under his gaze.

She switched her gaze to the ugly walls.

"Great, actually. The vet thinks we're winning now. He seems a lot less…yowly."

"He hasn't been over," Emma blurted out. "Since the night you had dinner. And I was worried, that…that it wasn't good news, that he was getting too sick and, I mean. You'll have to leave, sometime, and maybe a sick cat wasn't going to be a good travelling companion…"

Killian appeared to understand where that thought was going. "Oh. No. No, I wouldn't. I promised him, love. I'll always take care of Mr Smee." He reached out and gently stroked Emma's arm and she felt a little better at his touch, but mostly she was comforted by his words. He did seem sincere.

At least she knew that Mr Smee would always have someone who cared for him.

"Well. I should, uh…get going. Home. Tinkerbell might be wondering where I am. She knows this is bedtime."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Killian didn't move his hand away from her arm, though, and he took a step closer to Emma. There was a warmth that surrounded him and it was all Emma could do not just cling to him for dear life, as though she was drowning in a sea of her own making and Killian was the only one who could save her.

But he wasn't there to save her. He'd saved Mr Smee. And probably that was enough.

"You know, not everything is set in stone," he said, in an off-hand way that wasn't really off-hand at all. "I mean, nothing lasts forever."

Killian gave her a significant look, his dark blue eyes sincere and, possibly, a little hopeful. But Emma was confused because all he was doing was echoing David's words from earlier. And David had been right. Annoying, but _right_. Sometimes it was time to move on.

And Killian would.

"No. It doesn't. Well, except orange Formica. It's just…awful." Emma hoped that comment would focus Killian's attention away from whatever he was trying to tell her, whatever story he had to sell about how they could still have a good time now, and didn't she want to just have some fun?

And that was just all too complicated for Emma. She didn't really know how to do the 'fun' thing, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to.

Her ploy worked, and Killian dropped his hand from her arm and turned to the counter, where Mr Smee was now pushing the frozen yoghurt container with his nose, trying to get at the last drops of his treat.

"Maybe even that will one day go," Killian replied. "That is, if the landlord has any foresight." He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "They could do so much with this place."

They could, Emma thought, but they probably wouldn't. Not for a place that only housed those who were passing through.

"Goodbye, Mr Smee." Emma gave him a scratch under the ear, which he ignored in favour of remaining absorbed in the remnants of his frozen yoghurt. "Goodbye, Killian."

"Goodbye, Emma love." Her attention had been mostly on Mr Smee still and she hadn't noticed how close Killian had moved to her. Or, perhaps she had and she was ignoring it. Either way it was a little surprising when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, softly. Just the barest brush of his lips on her jaw, and then he stepped back and watched her carefully, judging her reaction.

Emma gave him a small smile in return, feeling a little confused about everything, and then she turned to go, her steps down the hallway and across the street feeling lighter than they had when she'd arrived. But while the kiss was nice it was the addition of love to her name made Emma feel happier than she probably should. She allowed herself that tiny scrap of happiness, and went to bed trying very hard to switch her mind away from how nice it would be to actually be someone's love.

Someone who wasn't going to leave her, anyway. Just once. Just once she wanted someone to think she was worth sticking around for.

But nothing lasts forever, and everyone leaves in the end. And if Emma had learned anything in her life, she knew these things to be true.

It was just a shame that little bubble of hope, the one hovering very near her heart, wanted to disregard it anyway.

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Yeah…so this story? The one that was three parts and an epilogue…well, think of this chapter as being like when they have to split a book into two movies, so although it'll still be three parts and an epilogue, it'll actually kinda be four parts plus an epilogue? OK?**

**Yeah, you know I'm from the same country as Peter Jackson, right? :D**

**I'm just going to stand in the corner now, and hang my head in shame!**

**Disclaimer: None of the recognisable characters are mine.**

Emma woke up the next morning feeling resolute. Hope wasn't going to get her anywhere. It was a ridiculous notion and it certainly wasn't going to change anything, and nor was the fact he'd kissed her on the cheek. If Killian was leaving town, then he was leaving town.

She'd miss him. A little, maybe. And she'd definitely miss Mr Smee.

Although the cat seemed to be back to his old self, which was probably bad in terms of managing his condition, but made Emma feel a bit better as regular visits had been resumed, along with his desire to pillage and plunder. He pushed his way into the pantry one evening and opened a package of dried pasta with his claws, in a fruitless search for the cat food which had been moved to a higher shelf.

Emma put him out the front door with a firm "Go home, Mr Smee," but, when he clattered through the cat door mere minutes later, she felt a little bad at her treatment of him and allowed him to finish up the macaroni cheese she'd had for dinner.

She did not, absolutely did not, feel at all guilty for the fact she was trying very hard to keep out of Killian's way. Not even when she delayed leaving for work because she could see him across the street removing Mr Smee from where he was sitting on the driveway behind Killian's truck.

Tinkerbell had eyed her suspiciously as she'd snuck down the hallway to the kitchen but she was just a cat, and, really, had no right judging anything Emma did. And she was doing it with the best of intentions because, perhaps, she'd be saving Killian from any awkward moments when he left town.

It was a good justification for hiding in the kitchen instead of marching out to her car and going to work, but it was lost on a cat.

Her tactics didn't work all that well anyway because as much as she could plan to avoid running into Killian in the street outside their houses, she had absolutely no control over his movements elsewhere in town. And that was how she found herself standing at the counter at Granny's diner, waiting for the coffee she'd ordered for herself and David, when Killian appeared at her elbow.

"Hello, love."

There was absolutely nowhere to hide and she wasn't about to get into the whole debate on the epithet he chose to use right then and there in front of Ruby Lucas who, for reasons known only to herself, seemed to have given up on actually making Emma any coffee and was now shifting things around below the counter very slowly.

"Hey," Emma replied, plastering on a bright 'gosh, how nice to run into you' face. At least that's what she was aiming for. God only knows what expression she ended up actually wearing, because there was a moment when Killian's face looked a little confused, before he did some plastering of his own and the smile he'd been sporting returned.

Emma noticed that there seemed to be a few of Killian's co-workers filling up a booth behind him. "You're not stuck with the nut loaf nobody wanted today?" she asked.

"No. Uh. Nope." There was a pause and then he continued. "It's actually kind of a farewell. Robin's leaving at the end of the week."

"Oh? Is the work drying up?" Emma had hoped to sound casually interested, but her voice rose at the end and she sounded anything but casual.

"Not for me," Killian replied, hastily. "But, uh, Robin…well, he's finishing up. He's got some…other matters to attend to."

"Sounds…mysterious."

Killian shrugged. "Not really. His wife wants to get back together and, as he seems to be quite keen on having a better relationship with his son, it's something he is going to pursue."

Emma turned and looked more closely at the group of me, especially the one they were all toasting with the beers they'd managed to be served incredibly quickly considering Emma was still waiting on two coffees. And where had Ruby disappeared to, anyway?

"Isn't he the one who was dating Regina Mills?" Emma asked and Killian nodded.

"Indeed. It makes the situation more…complicated, than mysterious."

"Yep. Nothing all that mysterious about that particular situation. It's hardly the first time someone's been burned by a short-term fling." Emma shuddered. "Glad it's not me."

She turned and looked back at Killian's face and he looked… a little thoughtful perhaps? Emma hoped it was because he was wondering where Ruby was as well and not because of any hopes he might harbour about short-term flings while he was in town.

Emma didn't want to just be a ship passing in the night.

"I suppose you're gonna defend him, right? I mean...don't guys all stick together about this?" Emma said, goading Killian into saying something that she could legitimately blame him for, because she wanted to blame him for _something_, and blaming the man for existing was wearing a little thin.

He didn't bite at her taunt though, although she watched his jaw clench in a way that suggested he wanted to. Instead he leaned a little closer and dropped his voice so that it was low and urgent and way more appealing than it should have been under the circumstances. "I don't believe I know enough about the ins and outs of Robin's situation to condemn the man just yet, love, but I do believe, very strongly, that no one should miss out on a second chance. And if he thought that this Regina was his chance at finding love again then, well, this is just all very unfortunate for those involved."

Well, yes. Emma supposed it was all a little sad for the people it affected, but she still struggled with the idea of being granted a second chance when she wasn't entirely certain she'd ever been given any chances. Not to be loved by someone, anyway. Someone who'd actually stick around long enough to see whether it was worth taking that chance in the first place.

She was trying to come up with a reply that didn't expose her deepest fears rather brutally when Ruby popped back up again and saved the day. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she said. "We just ran out of beans and I didn't know where there were more…but here you go, Emma. On the house for the wait!" Ruby pushed two takeout coffee cups across the counter.

"Oh. Thanks, Ruby. That's uh…very thoughtful."

"And what do you get in return for bribing the police force?" Killian asked, leaning over the counter towards Ruby. His demeanour was completely different from how it had been a moment earlier. Gone was the seriousness and urgency and in its place was something light and playful.

It was a little fascinating to Emma who felt as though her own brain couldn't keep up, still stuck as it was pondering the implications of everything Killian had said.

Ruby, however, was on the same page as Killian. At least the way she looked at him, eyes glinting through her thick, dark lashes suggested she was open to a little playfulness. This was all very interesting to Emma. In an abstract way, she thought. Because she didn't really understand how Ruby could just be so open all the time, so ready to flirt at just the drop of a hat.

Emma wasn't like that _at all_, and, really, if Killian wanted a second chance or a fling or whatever he thought the women in this town were available for, then Ruby was right there, and she certainly seemed amenable.

Emma suddenly felt surplus to requirements.

"Oh, that's not a bribe!" Ruby said, waving her hand around. "That's just me being friendly. We're very friendly in Storybrooke, aren't we Emma?"

"Uh. OK. Sure." Emma didn't want to be pulled into this at all.

"And Emma's been very friendly and bought you coffee so don't go spoiling it now!" Ruby continued, pointing a beautifully manicured finger at Killian. That just made Emma wince internally.

"Oh, no. That's for David…" Emma began, only to find that Killian was talking over her.

"Sadly, I'm not the lucky recipient of Emma's benevolence, Ruby," he said. Emma didn't realise she was holding her breath, waiting for Killian to add the inevitable 'love' after Ruby's name, until he didn't and she exhaled, before scooping up the coffee cups with a view to making a quick exit.

"I…should get these back to the station. See you, Ruby." Emma turned to Killian. "And, uh…see you too. I guess."

Emma didn't wait around to hear what his reply to that was, and especially not to hear if he added love to it. Some things she just didn't need to know.

And if David wondered at all why she dumped his coffee on his desk so forcefully then he never bothered to ask, seemingly far too involved in clicking off whatever website he currently had up on his computer monitor.

And she _definitely_ didn't want to know anything about that, either.

When she got home after work she went through her usual routine; she changed out of her uniform, fed Tinkerbell, pondered what to make for dinner, but a heavy cloud of dissatisfaction hung over her, as though there was something else she could have done in the diner that afternoon.

She just didn't know what.

Emma looked at the rum bottle on the counter, the one Killian had brought over. She should return it really, she wasn't much of a drinker and it was unlikely she'd be entertaining anytime soon.

But she knew that would just be an excuse to see Killian. And letting herself fall into that trap, succumb to his charms, well that would be as intoxicating as drinking the remains of the bottle by herself. And the hangover when it was all over would be just as awful.

She was making the right choice.

She absolutely was, and she told Tinkerbell that, but the cat was far more interested in washing behind her ears and turned her back on Emma, before disappearing out the cat door. Tinkerbell was not particularly useful as a confidant, Emma reflected, before she was startled by the sound of urgent knocking at the front door.

Emma suspected who was knocking long before she opened the door, and she prepared a variety of responses along the lines of lying about how busy she was. However all of them died as soon as she saw how distressed he appeared.

And before she could ask what was wrong Killian blurted out "Have you seen Mr Smee?"

"Uh…not since this morning…maybe yesterday?" It was getting a little hard for Emma to pick out one visit from another these days, they had started to blend together. But clearly that didn't help Killian. "Why? Isn't he home?"

"No, I…" Killian took a deep breath in, but his eyes were still a little wide and panicked. "I lost him."

"Lost him? How?" Emma couldn't imagine Mr Smee just wandering off. Not when it was so close to dinner time, anyway.

Killian's words tumbled out in a rush. "I was…he had to go back to the vet's. And he's not fond of the carrier, but he's fine in the truck. Doesn't get in the way. But I stopped for petrol…" He paused and waved a hand impatiently as though he was trying to speak a different language and couldn't find the word. Emma was tempted to tell him she got the gist of it, but was a little worried that interrupting him would just throw him right off, so she waited until he got it figured out.

"You know, gas?" he said, and Emma nodded. "But the passenger window must have been down and when I got back, he wasn't there."

"So…he just left?"

"Well. I think so. He's not in the truck and…I just need to find him." Killian stood, hands on hips and looked out towards the street, as though Mr Smee might suddenly walk down it. But there was no sign of the cat and he ducked his head in defeat before turning back to Emma. "I was only at the station around the corner, and I hoped…I hoped he'd just made his way back here."

"No." Emma wished she had better news, or that she could say something, anything, that might comfort Killian. But she was a little lost at what to do. Mostly, when confronted with anyone even mildly distressed she tended to remain as hands off as possible. It just wasn't her strong suit.

Even on the job it was usually David who was more capable at calming down hyperventilating bystanders. Emma tended to shine in the moments that caused for firm direction and a sharp reminder of what society deemed appropriate.

But this was somehow different. This was Killian, and it was Mr Smee who was missing, and she wished that she had something more to offer.

"Do you, uh, want me to come and help you look for him?" she ventured.

Killian looked a little startled for a moment, as though he'd forgotten she was there, which only served to remind Emma of just how useless she was. "Oh. No. I mean…I think it's better if you're here, in case he does show up."

"Oh. Right. Yes, of course."

Killian stood still for a moment, looking like he might add something else, but then he nodded and walked off. And then something occurred to Emma. "Wait!"

"What, love?"

"I don't…um. Have your number." Emma was a little embarrassed to admit it because, while she might not be the go-to person for doling out comforting remarks, it was her doorstep Killian had turned up on, presumably because he thought she was a friend and somehow…well, they hadn't crossed this bridge before now.

Killian pulled his own phone out of his pocket and Emma gave him her number which he diligently entered in order to send her a text. "You know," he commented, after he had finished. "If Mr Smee has engineered this just so I can get your number then I might have to buy him a bucket of frozen yoghurt. I'll still be bloody annoyed with him for disappearing on me, but I think it would deserve some recompense." He looked up from the screen of his phone and Emma was struck, not for the first time, by just how handsome Killian was.

"Well, you could have asked me," she blurted out. "But, you know, it was probably easier to just turn up here than call."

"Like Mr Smee."

"Exactly."

There was another short pause and Killian put his phone back in his pocket. "If only he bloody would. Well, alright love. Let me know if he shows, yeah?"

Emma nodded. "Good luck. With the search."

She watched Killian as he drove off and then turned back in her own door to find Tinkerbell standing in the hallway. "I know we're supposed to wait here, but we could have just a small look around, couldn't we?"

Tinkerbell didn't seem to have an opinion, but Emma was very keen on not just sitting around and waiting; it had never really been her style. She grabbed her phone, which now showed that she'd received a text message that was just a serious of smiley faces, and a flashlight and went back out the front door.

With Tinkerbell as backup Emma scoured the property around the rental cottage, but there was no sign of Mr Smee. She checked her own back yard, at which time Tinkerbell gave up on helping and fell asleep on the back step.

With no Mr Smee on the horizon and no message from Killian yet, Emma walked a little way down the street and knocked on a couple of doors. The first place was empty and she scanned the yard, but there was no familiar orange shape. At the next house someone was home but, when she asked to check around the garage, the guy spent far longer singing the praises of his Miada than Emma was really comfortable with. She got that he was probably lonely, but even so, it was just a _car_.

And she had a cat to find.

She was heading back home when she finally received a text message from Killian, although it wasn't good news. He'd apparently asked a few people and Leroy had volunteered that he'd seen a cat down near the toll bridge. Emma seriously doubted it was Mr Smee; the bridge was a fair way out of town and Mr Smee was old and not that fast. But she didn't want to turn Killian away from any possible leads unless she had something more concrete to offer in its place.

And when she got home, she found that she did, although for a while she was so busy staring at her phone and willing Killian to send her another message she almost stepped on Mr Smee and it was only the yowl he let out that stopped her foot actually connecting.

"Where have you been?" she asked him, but all she got was another yowl in response, this one tinged with an air of the-service-in-this-establishment-has-really-gone-downhill-where-_were_-you, but Emma had never been so glad to have a cat yell at her in her life.

She pulled out the spare cat bowl she just happened to have now, as it had been a free gift with the extra-large sized bag of cat food she'd had to buy the week before, and put most of a can of tuna into it before presenting it to Mr Smee. The cat didn't seem particularly grateful, but he did immediately bury his face in the food and start eating.

Tinkerbell pushed through the cat door, the sound of her bell only just heard over the noises of Mr Smee's eating and she gave him a contemptuous look, before giving Emma an annoyed look.

Emma gave her the rest of the tuna.

And then she snapped a photo of Mr Smee on her phone and sent it to Killian along with a message that read _Mr Smee has been sighted safe and sound. You can come home now._

It was only after the message was gone and she was watching Mr Smee lick the now-empty bowl enthusiastically that she realised that the whole 'home' part of the message was a little silly. Because this wasn't Mr Smee's home and it certainly wasn't Killian's.

But he'd know what she meant.

She hoped.

Emma's stomach growled, alerting her to the fact that she'd somehow missed dinner and she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate most of it. Mr Smee tried some, found peanut butter a little sticky, but valiantly chewed on, unwilling to spit good food out.

Killian did not reply to her text.

And then, with nothing else to do and not prepared to give up on the evening just yet, Emma tried watching TV, but mostly ended up watching Mr Smee as he fussed with the blanket and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He scratched a few times and kept licking his leg and Emma wondered if he'd picked up some fleas on his expedition home and when he'd last been treated for them. She thought she should ask Killian, but he still hadn't replied and there was no sign of his truck either. Mr Smee could normally recognise the sound and it would make him lumber off in search of more food, but the street remained empty and silent.

It was getting a little weird. Although, Emma reasoned, perhaps Killian had seen her text message and, glad of Mr Smee's return, had gone on to join his friends at the Rabbit Hole.

That was plausible, she supposed. Mr Smee didn't really have an opinion when she voiced the theory to him. But somehow it didn't gel with just how worried Killian had been earlier. Surely he'd reply?

Maybe the text had been lost somehow, gone to whatever cloud in the sky swallowed missing messages. Emma sent another one which read _Hey, did you get my last text?_ She hoped that came off as a simple inquiry and not as an accusation of some misdeed.

But there was no reply to that either.

Something wasn't right.

Emma picked up her phone, and grabbed her keys from the table in the kitchen, before shrugging on a jacket. "You guys, just behave while I'm gone OK?" she said to the feline occupants of the living room, but they both ignored her, in the same way they'd been ignoring the growing evidence that something was up with Killian.

She drove down the street and around the corner, passing the now-darkened gas station that had been the scene of Mr Smee's daring escape earlier in the evening. Continuing on she reached the main street of Storybrooke and drove slowly down, past the closed storefronts and the empty sidewalks.

There was no sign of Killian.

The Rabbit Hole was at the end of the street and it was the one place in town where there was a significant amount of activity, but, although she drove right through the parking lot she could see no sign of Killian's truck.

Growing increasingly worried, Emma kept driving. She just couldn't reconcile the very-worried-about-his-cat Killian she'd seen earlier with a Killian who would just assume all was now well and leave to do God knows what.

There wasn't much Emma trusted outright in this world, but she was pretty damn sure of her own gut instinct.

Near the toll bridge, on the road that no one really used these days if they were just passing through, Emma spied a very familiar truck pulled over at the side of the road.

She parked her own car behind it and got out, using the small flashlight she kept in the glove box, she looked in the window of the truck. It was empty, although she could clearly see Killian's cellphone placed carefully in the centre of the passenger seat.

Emma's heart sank, and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. She cast the beam of the flashlight around and wished she'd thought to bring the larger one from home. But she had hardly expected to have to tramp around in the woods in the dark looking for where Killian might have disappeared to.

As it turned out, she didn't have to go far, but what she found was hardly a relief. Not far from the edge of the road, and a little way from the truck lay Killian's crumpled and excruciatingly still form.

Emma ran over and knelt down beside him forcing herself to stay calm. From what she could make out there was blood on his face and she automatically put a hand on his chest to see if he was breathing or had a heartbeat or…well, the alternative wasn't worth considering.

And her ministrations had an effect. "Ow," Killian muttered, and Emma almost jumped.

"Sorry. I was just…checking. Where does it hurt?"

"Um…everywhere. It hurts to breathe." Now that she was listening properly and not consumed with the voice in her own head she could hear him breathing shallowly.

"OK." Emma shone the flashlight on Killian's face at the same time as his eyes fluttered open, and he squinted and closed them again.

"Sorry," she repeated.

"S'alrig', love."

"What happened?"

After a moment, during which Killian seemed to be gathering himself to speak, he muttered "Car," and Emma figured that would have to suffice for now. She didn't want him moving or straining himself any more than he really had to, and, mostly, she wanted someone else to come and take charge because this was all a little scary. It wasn't like helping someone when she was working, this was personal.

She continued checking Killian as best she could, and then, when she was satisfied that there were no injuries that were about to cause him to bleed to death in front of her, she stood up and moved a few steps away before calling the station and getting them to send an ambulance. Ashley, who sometimes manned the phones at night while her husband was home with the kids, seemed a little too interested in the details of how Emma had found the man who happened to be her neighbour lying on the side of the road, and she found herself snapping at the poor woman on the other end.

Was it too much to ask that they just send the freaking ambulance?

Satisfied that Ashley had the message, Emma put her phone back in her pocket and went back to Killian. "They're sending someone. How're you doing?"

There was a pause, during which time Emma wondered if he'd actually lost consciousness, and then he croaked out "Emma?"

"Yep?" His fingers brushed hers and she instinctively closed her hand around his.

"Good. I thought…I imagined you were here again."

"OK." Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of that. "How long have you been here?"

"I…don't know. I just…I saw the cat, and I got out to look, and then…I think the car didn't see me. And when I sort of…came back, I was here." Killian suddenly gasped, and his grip on her hand grew tighter. "Mr Smee! I promised him…oh God, I promised."

"No. No. It's fine. He's at home."

"Home?"

"Yes. Well, my house. With Tinkerbell. They had some tuna and went to sleep. It was all very normal. I sent you a text, but you didn't see it, and I thought that if you had then you definitely would have replied." Emma didn't explicitly state that was the reason she'd started searching for Killian, but she figured he could fill in the blanks.

"So, he's alright?"

"Mr Smee is in a much better state than you are." Emma was a little worried about how long the ambulance was going to take. Perhaps she should have driven him to the hospital herself? But she wasn't sure about moving him, and lifting him into her car or his truck just seemed like an impossible task. What she really needed were the professionals and their stretchers.

Emma didn't think it was a particularly good idea to voice any of her concerns to Killian. So, instead, all she said was "You shouldn't wear so much black."

"I…what?"

"Dark colours. The car that didn't see you. Something brighter would have helped. Also it's a really _stupid_ colour to wear if you're going to own a ginger cat who sheds badly." Emma almost winced at how harsh her words sounded but Killian just chuckled, although it soon turned into a groan.

"Ow. That hurts. Of course it's also a stupid colour to wear if I'm going to consort with blonde women."

"Yeah. I guess." Emma was not at all sure how her scolding Killian had turned into him flirting with her.

They sat in silence for a few moments and then the ambulance rumbled up and Emma got out of the way as Killian was assessed and loaded onto a stretcher. She had thought that once he was safely in the hands of people who could actually do something to help him she'd leave. She'd assumed that at this time the best thing she could do would be to go home and check that Mr Smee was still where she'd left him.

But one of the paramedics called out "Are you coming too?" and Emma followed them onto the ambulance, almost on autopilot. It was probably best not to think too much about these things, not to wonder why they ushered her into a seat right beside Killian, or why he opened his eyes and smiled when he saw her beside him. She especially didn't think about why her hand reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of Killian's eyes once the ambulance was moving, and then just stayed there stroking his face.

None of that really seemed important at the moment.

And when they got to the hospital she was glad that she had had the time with him because he disappeared quickly in what seemed like a swarm of doctors and nurses and, although Emma had been very keen for someone else to come and take responsibility for Killian's welfare, it seemed she wasn't entirely prepared to give it up quite so soon.

One of the nurses, who Emma vaguely recognised from the times she'd visited the hospital in a far more official capacity, came over to her and said "Don't worry, Dr Whale's just going to check him over and then I should be able to come back and tell you what's happening…uh, Emma." She nodded as though satisfied with her decision to drop the whole 'Officer Swan' title, clearly assuming that Emma was off-duty in this instance.

"Oh, uh…I should probably head on home," Emma replied, not really wanting to stand around in the waiting room like one of the relatives she usually had to question after something like this occurred. Being here off-duty, being Emma, suddenly felt weird.

"You'll let his family know to come though?" the nurse asked. Emma looked at the nametag she was wearing, hoping to jog her own memory, but _A. Stefanovich_ didn't really ring any bells. Amelia? Amber? Annabelle?

"Family…um." Emma realised, with a sinking feeling, that she had no idea if Killian had anyone beyond an elderly cat who was hardly going to discuss his condition with the doctor. "You know what? I will stay. Just until we know for sure how he his."

The nurse smiled. "Great. I'll let you know as soon as I can, OK?" She patted Emma on the arm in a consoling fashion which Emma thought was utterly misplaced because they had just established that she wasn't really anything to Killian other than a poor stand-in for family.

"Aurora? You coming?" A man in a white coat who Emma didn't recognise stuck his head around the double doors through which Killian had been wheeled.

"Yep," the nurse replied, and Emma felt some relief at finally learning the nurse's name, but it was useless information as soon as Aurora hurried off and Emma was left alone in the waiting room feeling anything but relief.

There was nothing to do but wait. And wait, and wait. And while she was waiting she watched other people, other families coming and going in various emotional states and it just hit home how detached from the world she really was.

If it was Emma in hospital, who would be waiting out here for her?

Eventually Emma's mind shut down, not quite relaxed enough for sleep, but no longer able to keep up the whirling pool of worry that had fuelled her adrenaline surge up until now. She had resorted to leaning on one hand and staring blankly at the coffee machine that she was too wary to try.

But she was roused from her not-quite-slumber by Aurora touching her arm "Emma?"

"Yep. I'm…here." She sat up straighter and tried to surreptitiously wipe away any drool on her face.

"Come through. You can see him now."

"Oh. OK." Emma stood up and followed Aurora as she led the way out of the waiting room and through the double doors.

"You can talk to Dr Whale first, but he's fine. Really. Just a little banged but nothing broken. So that must be a relief for you."

"Um. Yes." Emma's brain felt slow and sluggish and she wished she could be as upbeat as Aurora sounded, especially given the fact that she had merely been sitting all this time and Aurora had, presumably, been working.

Emma was eventually led to a desk tucked away in one of the corridors and greeted by Dr Whale who smiled at her, which was unnerving because she didn't think she'd ever been the recipient of one of those before.

"Mr Jones'll be fine. There are some cracked ribs and his left knee is pretty swollen, but we couldn't find any fractures. Everything else is just bruising and superficial lacerations. Looks worse than it is."

"That's good."

"Go on through." Dr Whale gestured to a door off the corridor.

"Oh, no. I should let him rest."

"A short visit won't hurt. And I think he's expecting you."

Once again Emma found herself swept up in everyone's assumptions that Killian actually wanted her here, and she allowed herself to be ushered into Killian's room. Seeing him again, lying there, the cuts on his face far more obvious than they had been in the dark at the side of the road earlier, was both a relief and a jolt to her heart.

It made Emma anxious and utterly unsure of her own reactions. She liked things cut and dried, she liked to know where she stood but this weird mixture of emotions was new to her and she really didn't know how to handle it.

But then Killian caught sight of her and he smiled broadly, even though it looked a little painful, and Emma was left with a whole other thing to worry about. She didn't know how to be that person to someone, and she was afraid she'd just screw it up like she screwed everything up. Like the way she'd screwed up with Graham and Walsh and August and even Neal, screwed up to the point where they just left her because it was obvious that she was never going to be the person they needed.

"Hey," she said, when not talking was starting to become an issue. "You're looking…" Emma wasn't sure how to finish that.

"Not dead? Yes, well. It'd take more than that to finish me off, love."

"Uh-huh. Well, I don't think you should try to prove that theory anytime soon."

"You won't come and rescue me again?"

"Not from yourself if you do anything ridiculous, no. Just…try not to get hit by anything larger than you are next time, OK?"

Killian chuckled, and then winced and Emma sat down in the chair next to the bed, which seemed to please Killian, if his smile was anything to go by. Emma found herself so distracted by his smile that she didn't notice exactly how she ended up holding his hand, but he seemed to like that as well and, mostly, she was pleased that, in the five minutes she'd been in the room, she hadn't screwed it up.

And also just a little bit happy that he was mostly OK.

Her happiness bubbled over into her telling Killian that he didn't have to worry because she'd get his truck back home and check on his place and make sure Mr Smee didn't starve and took his medicine when he was supposed to. If she'd stepped back and thought about it, she might have realised that she was getting herself awfully entangled in the life of someone she'd been trying to keep at arm's length, but it had been a long night and Killian really didn't have anyone else.

And maybe, just maybe, she liked the idea that he wanted her to help him out.

Eventually Dr Whale appeared in the room. "I hate to break this up, but you need your rest."

"I've done nothing but lie here, and I can't see that changing anytime soon," Killian grumbled.

"I meant Emma," Dr Whale replied.

"Ah, well. Maybe it's time she should leave, before she decides I should be put out of my misery. She has form on that front, you know. Thought I should have my cat put down."

"I think she's far more likely to get you fixed. In my experience women are less than forgiving of men who like to wander off and get themselves into trouble."

Both men laughed, but Emma felt that she needed to correct the assumption that Dr Whale was making. "Yeah, that's not something I'm planning, _at all_."

She realised she'd merely played along with the joke when the only response she got from Killian and Dr Whale was more laughter.

"I think, perhaps, I should go," Emma added, standing up.

"But you'll be back later on, love?" Killian asked, his fingers reaching to hold onto hers.

"Oh, um. Sure. I'll call back in…later. You, uh. Feel better, OK?" She patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the room quickly, not making eye contact with Dr Whale as she passed him.

She marched down the corridor, through the double doors and made it all the way to the main lobby of the hospital before she sat down heavily in one of the hard plastic chairs and let the tears that she'd held back earlier in the night finally fall.

And that was where Emma was, head in hands and tears running down her face, when she heard Mary Margaret say "Emma?" Looking up she realised it wasn't just Mary Margaret, but David as well.

"Are you OK?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah." Emma wiped her face with a hand. "Long night. I need to, um…get home. And then to work…I guess." She hadn't really thought through how she was going to manage any of that; her car was still parked at the side of the road, behind Killian's truck.

"But you weren't working last night." David stated, at the same time as Mary Margaret asked "But what happened? Why are you here?"

"Oh. I…my neighbour. You know, the guy with the annoying cat? He got hit by a car and I brought him in." That seemed to sum up the situation as far as Emma could tell, but Mary Margaret frowned and then sat down in the chair beside her and didn't seem satisfied at all.

"Were you in the accident? Are you hurt?" Mary Margaret's eyes flicked over Emma's face.

"Nope. No. I just found him and got the ambulance. It wasn't a big deal, really." Emma waved a hand in front of her face.

Mary Margaret's expression didn't change, however. She still looked worried. Emma decided to change the subject. "So, why are you guys here so early in the morning?"

Mary Margaret looked up at David and there was a smile on her face now. In fact she was positively glowing. And then she reached into her purse and pulled out some kind of a photograph before handing it Emma who looked at the grey, blurred image for a few moments before figuring out what it was. "Oh. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Mary Margaret replied, still smiling broadly. "It actually feels pretty good to finally be able to tell people now we've had the scan and know everything's OK."

"Yeah," David echoed, wearing an identical smile.

"I just…a baby. That's huge." Emma's tired brain was struggling to think of what to say. On top of everything that had happened during the night this was just a little overwhelming. And it wasn't that she wasn't genuinely happy for them, of course she was. And they'd make great parents. But Emma felt so out of step with her friends that it wasn't even funny and it set off a prickly, uncomfortable feeling under her skin.

"It's gonna be…quite something," David said, rocking on his feet and looking as pleased as punch, almost like he'd done it all himself.

"Look, I should probably get home," Emma handed the photo back to Mary Margaret, who stroked it reverently, before placing it back in her purse.

Mary Margaret's expression switched from happy back to concern as soon as she focussed on Emma again. "Emma, I don't think you should be going to work straightaway. The shadows under your eyes are enormous."

"OK. Great, thanks."

"Emma, I'm being serious." And Mary Margaret was using her most serious voice, the one she, no doubt, used on the most troublesome third graders.

"I know, and I appreciate it, but…" Emma sighed. "I just…"

"Yeah. No buts. David, you go and bring the car around to the front, Emma and I will meet you out there." David walked off and Emma realised there wasn't much choice but to go along with Mary Margaret's plan. At least it solved one problem.

"If you could take me to my car, then that'd be great."

"Of course, but you need to go straight home. David can manage at work for the morning, at least." Mary Margaret frowned at Emma's sceptical look. "What? It's Storybrooke. I'm sure if anyone wants to commit a truly heinous crime we can ask them to hold off until you've had some rest."

"Maybe if you ask them. I think all the truly heinous criminals will take more notice of you than they will of David."

"Of course they will," Mary Margaret said, standing up. "I probably taught them all to read."

Emma followed Mary Margaret as she started walking through the lobby, past the doctors and nurses and the people just milling around. "So you just happened to find him?" Mary Margaret asked, in a voice that was a little too casual.

"Oh. Well I knew he was out looking for his cat, and he didn't reply to my text…I found Mr Smee. He just showed up…that's the cat. And then I just…I figured something was wrong. So I went to look and there he was."

"So you saved him?"

"What? No. It wasn't anything as dramatic as that…I just called so they'd send an ambulance. Dr Whale did the rest."

"Uh-huh." Mary Margaret didn't sound all that convinced.

"It's what anyone would have done. _You_ would have done it." Emma didn't really want to defend her actions but she felt like Mary Margaret was giving them more weight than was actually deserved. She hadn't done anything than any normal person would have done.

"Yes, but maybe only if I'd noticed someone as I was driving past. But you said you went out looking for him?"

"It's not like that," Emma said, hurriedly.

"Like…what? That you care about him?"

Emma sighed. "That I think it could go anywhere even if I did. He's just here while he has a job at the boatyard and when that's finished, he'll be gone. Hardly worth getting all excited over." She gave Mary Margaret a sideways glance. "And please, after the night I've had I don't need to be reminded that it's important to keep thinking I'll get a happy ending. I understand I'm supposed to hope for the best but just…sometimes it's not gonna work out like that."

They walked through the big revolving door at the front of the hospital and then stopped outside. "I get that," Mary Margaret replied. "I mean. I really do." She looked away from Emma for a moment and then seemed to make a decision about something. "We tried, for a long time. For this baby. It was a _really_ long time."

"I…didn't know."

"Well, of course you didn't. You have your own life, you don't need to get all our problems dumped on you. But I felt it, too. That feeling that no matter how much you want something it's just not in the cards for you. And I started to think it was never going to happen. But then David said that sometimes life isn't just about the ending, it's about the moments that make up the whole thing. And that if you can make the most of those moments as you live them, then sometimes life just surprises you."

"That seems…very philosophical for David."

"Well, I think he got it from his mother. It sounds more like something Ruth would say. But I think you get what I'm saying."

"That I should make the most of the times I have to rescue my neighbour from the side of the road?" Emma gave a rather flippant shrug, hoping she was doing a good job of pretending that none of it really mattered to her.

"That you shouldn't let the fact that this maybe doesn't look like the path to your happy ending stop you enjoying the journey."

Emma decided she needed to be a little more serious. "I just don't think…I mean, I wouldn't want…" She paused, and took a deep breath. "I couldn't take being let down. When he does leave. I don't want to go through all of that." _Again_, she added in her own head.

"Nothing is guaranteed in this life, Emma. _Nothing_," Mary Margaret said vehemently, and Emma was about to reply that it was all well and good to think that when you'd just found out that your dearest wish was coming true, but David drove around the building and she settled for getting in the backseat of their car instead.

It was a little like going on a daytrip with your parents, Emma thought, as they made their way out to where her car and Killian's truck were parked. Mostly she just kept quiet, hoping that Mary Margaret wasn't going to re-start their earlier conversation. And she didn't; David's presence meant they retreated into a cosy bubble of self-congratulation. Emma could hardly blame them for it, but it was hard not to feel a little excluded all the same.

When they reached the other vehicles there were some complicated negotiations to work out who drove what. In the end Emma drove her own car, David took Killian's truck after she handed him the keys that had been stashed in the nightstand in Killian's room, and Mary Margaret drove her own car. And then, in an almost stately procession, they drove on to Emma's house.

"Well, thanks for that," Emma said, as David handed back the keys to Killian's truck.

"No problem. I hope your, uh…friend, feels better soon," David replied. "You know, you did a really good thing, Emma."

"Oh, yeah. I guess."

"He's a lucky guy."

"He is?" Emma wasn't sure that's how she'd put it.

"To have a friend like you."

"Right. Yeah. Well, I'd maybe even go and scrape your ass off the side of the road as well."

"I'll remember that. Oh, and I told the station you wouldn't be in until later on."

"You didn't have to do that. I'm fine, really. I just need a shower and some coffee and I'll be straight there."

"No, no. You take as long as you need." David patted Emma on the shoulder and she fought the urge to shrug it off. He meant well, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable about the mantle he was trying to place on her shoulders.

She just wanted to get back to normal.

It was a relief to get inside her cottage and almost trip over the two cats waiting to inform her that breakfast had been horribly delayed and they were suffering because of it.

At least with Tinkerbell and Mr Smee she could avoid awkward conversations about Killian, and even more awkward moments of being praised for her actions. It wasn't anything special, it was just a friend helping out another friend.

And as long as she kept telling herself that, she might almost believe it.

Despite her earlier protests that she only needed a shower and coffee, Emma found the call of her bed far too tempting and she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, waking a few hours later to find Tinkerbell staring at her from the other pillow and Mr Smee draped over her leg.

As much as she'd wanted to escape from Mary Margaret and David, it was nice not to be completely alone. "Killian will be back soon and then you can go home again," Emma said, extricating herself from Mr Smee's rather warm embrace. He didn't seem to be particularly worried about Killian's absence and Emma wondered, not for the first time, just how much notice Mr Smee actually took of the world around him.

Showered, dressed and clutching a cup of coffee she arrived at the station only to find there'd been nothing that David couldn't handle and really, unless someone in Storybrooke suddenly decided to go on a crime rampage in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, she could have stayed at home and reassured Mr Smee some more.

But she was there now, so she'd see it through, even though most of their afternoon consisted of various people who'd heard the news about the pregnancy from Leroy coming and congratulating David. "I don't even remember telling Leroy," David said, after the third person had just told him that his life was about to change forever.

"I don't think that's really an issue," Emma replied, wondering if there was any more coffee left. "He just kind of picks up what's going on from the atmosphere, or something." She started to walk to the coffeemaker and then stopped in her tracks. "So, why isn't he telling everyone about Killian?"

David crossed his arms and nodded. "Good point."

"Yes. Really good point." Emma was starting to get suspicious about what was going on, especially as David refused to meet her eyes.

"Um…you know, now that I think of it…I think perhaps Mary Margaret might have mentioned the pregnancy to Leroy. When she was in Granny's this morning." He shrugged.

"Thank you." Emma was incredibly touched. Of all the things they could have done for her, realising that she didn't need the whole town gossiping about her supposed rescue of Killian was probably the best one.

"Well, you can owe us some babysitting when the time comes."

"Uh. No. I'd be hopeless with a baby."

"You said that about cats, too. Now look at you." David smiled broadly, as though nothing was going to take away his happy vibe, and Emma ignored him. He'd done an incredibly nice thing for her, but even so, if he dumped a baby on her doorstep and expected her to look after it, he had another thing coming.

Emma stayed a little later at work, trying to make up for the hours she'd missed that morning, but there was only so much filing she could do, and only so long she could sit in a nearly-empty station and pretend that she wasn't a little anxious to find out how Killian was doing.

No one gave her a second glance as she walked through the hospital, the uniform acting like an invisibility cloak in places like this; there were almost always uniformed personnel of some description milling around.

But when she walked into Killian's room it was a different story altogether; he could definitely see her, and she found that she didn't really mind being the focus of his attention.

"So, what's life like outside the hospital? Have I missed anything?" Killian asked, as Emma took a seat beside his bed.

"Not so much. No major dramas. Clock tower's still standing."

"That's good to know, love. Wouldn't be Storybrooke without the clock tower."

"So I believe. Hey, here's something…uh, you know David? His wife Mary Margaret is pregnant. I ran into them after I left you this morning. They'd been for some kind of scan and got the all-clear, at least, that's what they told me."

"Well, that's good news for them." Killian did a weird scan of her face as he said that, as though he was checking her reaction.

"Yeah, it really is. I'm happy for them. They deserve to get the family they want."

Killian looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. "And the fact that I am being entrusted with this news, it is another case of me taking the secret with me when I leave?"

"What? Oh. No. Not in this case. Leroy knows, so everybody knows. You can blab it all you want, but I think it'll be yesterday's news pretty soon. Which is good, because it means we're not. News, that is. At all."

"_We_ aren't news?" Killian seemed a little perplexed by that.

"Yeah, you know. The whole accident and me finding you thing. It's, uh…well you don't want everyone knowing your business, do you?"

"Love, I don't care who knows what you did for me. You deserve all the praise in the world."

"Um. OK." That just made Emma uncomfortable once again.

"I meant it. I am indebted to you Emma Swan."

"Well, maybe I'll call in that debt sometime."

"Maybe you should." Killian raised his eyebrow with what looked like some effort, given the current state of his rather battered face, and Emma wondered how, yet again, she'd been manoeuvred into this kind of challenge.

Killian seemed to have a knack for this. Or maybe she was an easy target. Either way, the results were the same.

Trying to take some control back, Emma said "You don't owe me anything. It was the right thing to do."

Killian sighed. "You're going to bloody disagree with me again, but you really are the kindest person I know."

"Right. Yeah." Emma rolled her eyes because he could say that all he wanted but he didn't live in her head and she was far from the saint he seemed to think she was.

"You know what?" Killian shifted in the bed, trying to sit up a bit straighter. "Maybe I'll tell you a secret."

"OK." Emma worried about what on earth it could be. She hoped it wasn't anything involving Leroy.

"I was hoping it would be you." Killian looked pretty pleased with himself, but Emma was completely lost.

"What?"

"When you brought Mr Smee back. You see, I'd seen you before, at the docks. You were dealing with those guys and the argument over who'd caught what when they'd been out fishing, and there'd been some kind of fist fight over the cooler when they got back to shore. It might have even been a fish fight."

"Yes! I remember. That guy they call Happy hit the other one in the face with a mackerel. Wait? You saw that?"

"I did indeed, love. And I watched while that less-than-happy guy and his mate chewed your ear off for a good twenty minutes when you came to sort it out. I think that David wanted to just push the pair of them into the sea, but you were so very patient and, at the end of it, I think they tried to make you take the fish."

"Yeah. I got out of that by saying it would look like they were bribing me. Actually that was the only part that interested David, I think he envisioned free fish for dinner." Emma remembered that David had actually been a little put out that she'd been offered the fish and not him, and he'd been a pain in the ass for the rest of the afternoon.

"But how did you know where I lived?" Emma asked, feeling more than a little suspicious.

"Oh, I had no idea. Not until I heard a voice across the road telling Mr Smee to bugger off home."

"I don't think I used that phrase."

"No, but the intent was fairly clear. And I thought I recognised the voice. At least, I hoped it was attached to the woman I'd seen at the docks."

"So you just waited until Mr Smee annoyed me so much I brought him home?"

Killian screwed up one side of his face, and tilted his head to the side. "It wasn't exactly a well thought out plan as such. I just hoped that our paths might cross. I certainly didn't know he was raiding your pantry every night."

"OK." Emma took a moment to process everything he'd said. "So why tell me now? I mean, Mr Smee's not going to blab your secrets."

"Because," Killian said, reaching out a hand and laying it over the one Emma had resting on the edge of his bed. "I had quite the night last night. And I just wanted you to know."

"That you considered stalking me?"

"That I appreciate you, and I have since I first saw you on the docks."

Emma didn't trust herself to respond to that. Denial would no doubt sound petty and most likely offend the man who was trying to be nice, and simply fleeing from the room, as attractive an option as that was, wouldn't be any better.

"I don't expect anything, Emma," Killian said gently, and she nodded, not quite managing to make eye contact. "But I've learned that you don't always get a second chance in life, and it would be remiss of me not to say something."

"That you appreciate me?"

"Appreciate you, fancy you…pick whatever term you like, love."

"That's the uniform. Everyone likes a girl in uniform." Emma pulled, what she hoped, was a rueful expression, and Killian laughed.

"Is that how they get you to wear it?"

"Something like that." Emma gave him the best smile she could under the circumstances and then flicked her eyes down to look at where his hand was still covering hers. She wished she had something real she could add to the conversation, a secret that she felt like sharing. But her secrets were locked away and it would take more than a few kind words from a man in a hospital bed to make her bring them out for his perusal.

It was hardly worth the pain it would cause; not when he wasn't going to stick around. Better to let him carry on appreciating her, or whatever it was he wanted to do, for the time he was here. Better to listen to Mary Margaret's advice and take this moment for what it was, just a moment in time when she had someone who thought she was special.

"It looks better on you than on your mate Dave," Killian said, breaking into Emma's thoughts.

"What does?"

"The uniform. He was in here this morning, trying to get some details of the car that hit me. But I can't remember a bloody thing about what happened. Other than you turning up, that was pretty memorable."

"Well, maybe you'll think of something."

"Maybe. David said the same thing. And, you know, it kind of makes sense now that he was looking a bit…pleased with himself when he was here."

"Yeah…he was. All day. I don't know quite why he's taking all the credit, but I wasn't going to tell him he couldn't."

Killian laughed and she wanted to ask if David had said anything else, if he'd warned Killian off or told him that he was lucky to have Emma as a…well, as a whatever she was to Killian. But she didn't think it was a good idea to bring any of that up right then. None of it would be pertinent to what she actually was, and that was Killian's friend.

They sat in silence for a while and then Emma decided the best thing she could do to be his friend, was to reassure Killian that she'd look after Mr Smee. She outlined the plan she had for the rest of the evening, including stopping for frozen yoghurt. "Because you promised him, didn't you?" she asked.

There was no reply. Killian had fallen asleep.

Emma stood up and gently moved her hand from under his, trying not to wake him up. She stood and looked at him for a moment or two, before bending over so her mouth was close to his ear.

"And this is my secret," she whispered, watching his face for signs that he wasn't asleep. There was no movement, so she continued on. "I wish that you weren't leaving. I wanted…I want, just once, I want someone not to give me up. Plus, maybe I'd like to kiss you. Properly."

Emma held her breath and waited, but Killian didn't stir. Feeling a little bolder now, she leant down and touched her lips to his, as gently as she could. She half-hoped that he might open his eyes at her touch, that she would be caught out and forced to show her hand. But Killian remained steadfastly asleep, the beginnings of a snore sounding in his throat.

"Sleep well, Killian." Emma stood up and, as quietly as possible, left the room and shut the door behind her.

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Well, here I am again, and, no, this is still not going to be the last chapter of the main story. Honestly, I should just give up trying to predict the story length, shouldn't I? But the end is in sight, and I hope you all enjoy this instalment :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the recognisable characters.**

Killian was discharged from the hospital after two more days. Emma had visited him each night and he'd been growing increasingly restless. She suspected that Dr Whale would be glad to be rid of him, to be honest, although officially he was only allowed out because Emma was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, while he stayed in her spare room.

She'd grown quite fond of him; nearly as fond as she was of Mr Smee. And Mr Smee had all but moved in, so it only made sense that she let his owner hang around as well. At least, it kind of made sense to Emma.

She wasn't entirely certain it would make the same sense to other people, like David. So she hadn't exactly broadcast the news she was moving Killian into her incredibly small spare bedroom. Although, to be honest, David was a little bit wrapped in Mary Margaret's pregnancy at the moment. The whole buying a new house plan made sense to Emma now, and she wondered how she hadn't seen the signs sooner. Maybe she'd been just as wrapped up in her own life as they had been in theirs?

And it gave her a little thrill to think that, for once, she had a few things worth being wrapped in. Even if they were only trying to get Mr Smee's medication down his throat, and whether the bedding on the spare bed was actually in a fit state to be used by a human guest.

She'd told Killian she'd pick him up after work, but made one stop first to fulfil a promise to Mr Smee. _Any Given Sundae_ was empty when she walked in, the bell over the door sending Ingrid Gundersen from the back of the store to greet Emma. "Oh, hey Emma! You after some Rocky Road?"

"Um. No. I'm here to pick something up for a…friend…" Emma wasn't sure she could explain what she was doing there and still manage to sound like a rational human being. She hoped that Ingrid wasn't going to question why she was suddenly ordering something completely different.

"Ah, Mr Smee's frozen yoghurt!" Ingrid said, holding up a finger. "Because it's today, isn't it?"

"What's today?" Emma was increasingly worried that Ingrid was going to inform her that today was Mr Smee's birthday.

"Killian's getting out…you're picking him up, yes?"

"Um. Yes. How did you know?"

"Oh. The usual. Anna, you know my youngest niece? She went to school with Aurora Stefanovich…I think she's been looking after Killian in the hospital. So Elsa told me…when I popped into the bakery this morning on my way to open here."

"Right. Yes. OK." Emma wasn't quite sure how to feel about her business, or maybe Killian's business, being passed through so many of Ingrid's family members.

"He's doing well then?" Ingrid asked.

"As well as can be expected."

Ingrid nodded, and started filling a small container with vanilla frozen yoghurt. "Well, tell him all the best from me. Mr Smee is one of most popular customers."

"Popular?"

"Uh-huh. Killian gave me a photo of Mr Smee eating out of one of our containers and I put it up on the store's Facebook page. It got 15 likes, but I think a lot of those were from my family. Since my sister Gerda discovered the internet things haven't been the same. It's hard to get her away from it. I know Elsa was talking about getting her an iPhone for her birthday, but I think that might just make it worse."

"Oh…OK." Emma was never sure how to react when people just dropped details like that into the conversation. Was she supposed to commiserate with Ingrid or just what exactly?

"Of course," Ingrid continued, not really noticing Emma's reticence. "She's nowhere near as bad as my other sister Helga. For her, it's all internet shopping. I'm getting a little worried about how much she's buying. Of course we only know because Kristoff…Anna's fiancé…is the UPS driver, and he's been keeping Anna updated. I mean, I know Helga likes to look good, but it can't be prudent to be spending that much money."

Ingrid shrugged and went back spooning frozen yoghurt. Emma stayed silent but felt the same mixture of horror and fascination she always did when confronted with a situation like this. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be part of a big family, always knowing that the details of her life were passed around from mother to aunt to sister.

What made it worse, somehow, because it certainly made her feel more complicit in the whole thing, was that she knew the details Ingrid had left out. How it was Gerda's cancer treatment that left her house-bound and dependent not only on her daughters, but the internet as well. And she'd also been party to the fruitless attempts to persuade Helga to file charges against her ex-boyfriend, now known only as Weasel-Face, when he'd absconded with her savings about six month's back.

And while Emma would hate more than anything to have someone just airing her private business in a store, she worried that if something like that happened to her - if she was sick, or even just out of pocket - then who would rally to her aid?

"Still, it's a terribly bad business about Killian," Ingrid said, suddenly, and Emma was glad for the change in subject. "Hard to believe that someone would just drive straight on after that. Although people should hardly surprise you, I guess? And there's always been something a little strange about those woods. I remember when I was a girl…really young…someone left a baby out there. Just left it, and walked away like it was nothing."

Ingrid's eyes were wide as she handed the container to Emma who was less than pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. "Um…yeah. I did hear something about that…so how much do I owe you?"

"Oh, it's on the house." Ingrid smiled broadly. "I can't tempt you with some Rocky Road for yourself while you're here?"

"Nope. You know what? I'm good. Just, uh…thanks, for this. Killian'll appreciate it. And Mr Smee."

"Anytime. You just look after him, OK?"

Emma waved over her shoulder and didn't bother asking which 'him' Ingrid had meant. Probably Mr Smee. He was the customer featured on Facebook, after all. And, quite frankly, Emma just wanted to get out of there before Ingrid attempted any further conversation.

It was probably a good thing that Emma did hustle to the hospital, as Killian was looking anxious to leave when she got there, perched on the bed with a bag containing the belongings Emma had brought from his house beside him.

"Ah, there you are, love," he said, standing with a wince that he quickly tried to hide. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Hold your horses, I just need to get instructions from Dr Whale." Emma looked back over her shoulder wondering where the doctor was.

"I'm fairly sure we could dispense with the formalities and just leave?" Killian looked hopeful and Emma wondered what the rush was, surely another five minutes wasn't going to kill him?

"Hang on…just wait here." Emma pointed a warning finger at Killian, who, rather reluctantly, lowered himself back onto the bed, before leaving to track down Dr Whale. She found him at what she assumed was the nurses station, surrounded by a handful of women all listening to him recount the plot of a TV show that had been on the night before.

Luckily he was disposed to stop his conversation long enough to give Emma the prescription for Killian's pain meds and a quick run-down on how he should keep applying cold packs to his ribs.

"OK," Emma said, when Dr Whale seemed to have finished his list. "I think I should be able to handle that…I mean, he can't be more trouble than his cat, can he? And Mr Smee…the cat…he's got thyroid problems, so, you know. I've had to take special care of him."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm not really a vet…but OK. You'll be fine though, I'm sure he'll be in good hands."

"Well, it's only temporary," Emma continued, still hoping to get a bit of commiseration from someone over the trouble she'd had with Mr Smee's illness. "And then, I guess, he'll be gone pretty soon, so I won't have the bother anymore. It's not like I'm keeping him."

"Oh. OK." There was a pause while Dr Whale frowned at her and Emma wondered whether she'd inadvertently insulted him by discussing the welfare of a cat with someone who, presumably, had a medical degree pertaining to people.

But then Dr Whale suddenly widened his eyes in understanding. "The cat!" he said emphatically and Emma wondered what on earth he thought they had been talking about.

And then she realised.

"Well, yes, uh…I mean. I'm not keeping _Killian_…or anything. It's not like that."

Dr Whale's expression suggested he found that statement even odder than the ones she'd made about Mr Smee and his medical problems. Emma was half-tempted to try to defend herself again but gave up. "I should let you get back to work. Thanks, though. For helping him."

"Sure. You…well, take care of yourself then, Emma. Sounds like you might need to." With that another nurse Emma didn't recognise turned up and handed Dr Whale a chart, throwing an apologetic smile Emma's way. Emma took that as her cue to leave.

She walked back to Killian's room bristling with indignation at Dr Whale's insinuation that just because she wasn't prepared to make Killian stay with her she'd be lonely and regret not throwing herself at the best prospect she'd had in years. But all that faded away when she saw Killian sitting on the bed, fidgeting just as much as before. More to the point, she noticed that he'd pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and the Milah tattoo was clearly visible, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

It was blindingly obvious as to why he didn't want to hang around a hospital any longer than he had to, that Emma was annoyed at herself for not realising earlier. Suddenly it made sense why he'd been constantly asking her what was happening in the world outside the hospital, or why he'd asked Dr Whale repeatedly when he could be discharged. He'd spent enough time in hospitals, and hadn't brought away any happy memories from the experience.

"Hey, so…quick trip to the pharmacy downstairs and then we're out of here, OK?" Emma said, and she watched as Killian stood awkwardly, wanting to help him but not wanting to overstep her boundaries. In the end she settled for shouldering the backpack that was sitting on the bed next to him, and walking very slowly down the corridor towards the elevators as a few of the nurses came over to say goodbye and wish Killian luck. And really, why shouldn't they? It was none of her business if he'd been in here making new friends.

When they made it to the first floor of the hospital it was a mission getting Killian to even stop at the pharmacy, let alone sit patiently on the seats outside while Emma went inside. But when it was done and she had the paper bag containing all the pills she was supposed to dispense to him, all that remained was to actually get Killian home to her cottage.

And Emma realised that perhaps the most difficult part of the day hadn't even begun yet.

"I really don't think we needed to bother with these," Killian said, as Emma handed him the bag from the pharmacy after she climbed into the driver's seat. It was a blatant lie, because he'd gritted his teeth noticeably as he'd lowered himself into the passenger seat of her VW bug, but he clearly wasn't admitting to any pain now.

"Well, as long as you're not as bad at taking your medication as your cat is we'll be fine." Emma started the car and reversed out of her parking space. "If I have hold you between my thighs and push the stuff down your throat I don't think either of us will be enjoying it."

Emma drove slowly towards the parking lot exit. There was silence for a moment, and then Killian gave an odd sort of cough. "I don't know, love. There are aspects of that statement which do sound almost appealing."

Emma sighed loudly and almost managed not to look over at Killian, but she couldn't stop herself from briefly glancing over her shoulder and the raised eyebrow and smirk she viewed told her all she needed to know.

"Yeah, I'm not one of those nurses you can charm into giving you bed baths, or, or…whatever you've been doing in the hospital. This is strictly just a short-term thing so you don't, you know. Fall over and just lie there for several days until Mr Smee eats your face or something. I wouldn't put it past him. He seems like the type to weed out the sick and injured pretty quickly."

"I'm not sure whether to be more offended that you think I've been using my injuries to gain some kind of sexual favours from student nurses, or that you think I'm about to keel over and get eaten by a cat."

"You're not offended on Mr Smee's behalf because I think he might eat you?"

"No, I'm fairly certain you have him pegged correctly." Killian shifted slightly and Emma felt, rather than saw, the resulting wince.

"Well. We have been spending a lot of time together." Emma shrugged, as she turned the car off Main Street and headed towards her cottage.

"And now you're just making me jealous, love. Because while there have been a distinct lack of bed baths in my last few days, I suspect that Mr Smee has been enjoying your hospitality wholeheartedly."

Emma was not, was absolutely _not_, going to respond to that remark because it took her back to all the things she'd tried to shut down a discussion on mere minutes before. Clearly Killian was not getting the memo and she was beginning to wonder if taking him into her home was a good idea at all.

At least Mr Smee she could pick up and move off the bed when his snoring and his desire to lie right on top of her feet got to be too much. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to do anything of the sort with Killian.

And, more worryingly, she wasn't sure she'd even want to. All that temptation was a dangerous thing at the best of times but to invite it into her home could just be the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

Still, Emma reflected as she pulled into her driveway, she was unlikely to attempt anything physical while Killian was still recovering from his injuries. And, sure enough, she was then faced with the dilemma of whether to help him out of the car and risk wounding his pride, or just standing there while he struggled and huffed and was, clearly, in pain.

In the end she settled for offering him a hand as he carefully stood up from the car. A hand, which, with only a little reluctance, Killian took, giving her a half-smile as he did so.

Inside the cottage Emma suddenly felt a little shy. The reality of having Killian staying with her was far more daunting than the prospect had been. "You, uh…just have a seat in the living room. I'm going to give Mr Smee his frozen yoghurt before it melts any more than it already has," she blurted, dropping Killian's backpack and all but scuttling to the kitchen.

If Mr Smee thought her haste to abandon her new houseguest was a little rude, then he didn't say anything. At least not anything that didn't sound like a loud complaint about how hungry he was, followed by a rusty purr that made him sound like he needed a serious tune-up when his face was finally buried in a bowl of frozen yoghurt.

Still, the purr did the trick at calming Emma. She stroked Mr Smee's back a couple of times, feeling his spine sticking through the rather worn fur and took a deep breath before heading back to the living room.

"Sorry! I just didn't want it to get too drippy." Emma shrugged, and waited to see what happened next. Killian was sitting on the sofa now and turned and gave her a smile, but it was clear his attention was really on something else.

"Is it just me, or has Mr Smee acquired a new blanket in my absence?"

"Ah. Oh. Well, the other one got a bit yucky, and he kept getting his claws stuck in it. Plus, that one was on sale. I think it's meant to be a baby blanket, but I mean who's really going to buy leopard print for a baby? But it won't show up all the fur he sheds…not as much, anyway. And I got Tinkerbell a green one, with her namesake on it, but she's a bit annoyed I put it on her pillow in bed. She doesn't seem to like it."

Emma paused, having realised that, although Killian hadn't made a comment, he was giving her a rather amused look. "You bought Tinkerbell a blanket with Tinkerbell the fairy on it?"

"I just…OK, but don't worry." Emma held up a hand in front of her. "Yours is blue."

"Mine?"

Emma winced internally, realising she'd said too much. "I meant the one on the spare bed is blue. You know, where you're sleeping."

Killian nodded and looked away, and Emma wondered if he thought she was reminding him, again, that this wasn't some kind of desperate attempt on her part to lure him into her bed. Really she just hadn't want to spell out that the bedding on there was new because she'd decided that Killian's stay gave her the perfect excuse to replace the worn-out, hand-me-down, passed-on to her by kindly acquaintances bedding that was all she'd had before when there hadn't been anyone who wanted to come and stay with her.

And if that didn't spell desperate, she didn't know what did.

"So…food," Emma announced, trying to move on to less embarrassing things. "You just stay there, and I'll get you something, OK?"

"No, look. I'm not an invalid. I don't expect you to wait on me hand and foot."

"Oh. Yeah. OK." Emma led the way back down the kitchen where Mr Smee was finishing up his yoghurt.

"I see he's distraught by my absence," Killian commented.

"Well…I'm sure he is on the inside." Emma started opening cupboards and trying hard to think about what to make. She hadn't really planned this very well; sure she'd bought new bedding but groceries would have been a welcome addition.

"Humph. I'm not certain I believe you, love. I think he's quite settled here."

"Look, I'm not trying to steal him from you, if that's what you think," Emma replied, feeling a little on the defensive and not entirely certain why. "I mean, I said this was temporary, and I know it is. Cat and everything, you'll be gone soon. That's OK." Emma gave, what she hoped was, a rather nonchalant shrug.

"Right you are, love. All just…temporary." Killian sighed and Emma went back to trying to find something to eat before he lost patience with her entirely. She wasn't cut out for nursing anyone, or having houseguests or just…anything really.

She almost wished he would decide to go back to his place, but at the same time desperately hoped he wouldn't.

In the end she settled on canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, confident that she had enough provisions for that at least. And concentrating on making the food was easier, even with Mr Smee underfoot and Tinkerbell sticking her nose into the kitchen and demanding some form of food-related tribute, and Killian just sitting there at the table, staring at his hands.

Emma wondered what he was thinking, but was far too scared to ask.

When they sat down to eat Mr Smee assumed an invitation had been extended and he spent a while trying to manoeuvre himself onto the table, finally stealing a crust of sandwich that Emma had left unguarded on her plate.

"I have to say, Emma, you're not instilling much confidence in me that you'll be able to protect me from Mr Smee's rapacious appetite if I find myself arsed over on the floor."

"No. Well, you'll just have to leave a pile of cat treats in the corner of the room and hope he goes for that instead."

And just like that it was easy again, no fixating about when Killian was going to leave, or worries that she was fooling herself into thinking they could be friends. No trying to ignore the odd little looks Killian cast her way, or pretend that she didn't like it when he called her 'love'.

Nope. This was far, far easier. Just sitting around, making jokes about being eaten by a cat.

The comfortable feeling stayed through cleaning up dinner, watching a little TV and even through Emma insisting that Killian followed Dr Whale's orders and iced his ribs. "Honestly, love, if you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could have just asked."

"Yeah, yeah. And you'll be sorry if you find yourself seized up in pain in the morning and Mr Smee accidentally suffocates you because you can't get out of bed."

"You think he'd really abandon your bed for mine, love? I can't imagine anyone making that rather poor choice."

"Well, we'll see. Now just put the damn ice on your ribs and take the pain pills."

Emma thought she did very well at remaining impassive when Killian removed his shirt, despite the undeniable fact that Killian removing his clothing did very little to dampen her attraction to him. Sure, the bruising wasn't pretty but it in no way diminished the overall pleasing effect of lean muscle and dark chest hair. Emma sighed, louder than she intended, and when Killian lifted his head sharply to catch her eye, covered it by coughing into her hand, and then turning away.

Afterwards Emma showed him to the tiny bedroom off the hallway. "It's, uh…well I think the people who used to live here stole some of the space to make the bathroom bigger. But it's still a pretty small bathroom. And some of the cupboards aren't hanging right, and one has a loose handle. But…I hope you'll be comfortable. In this room…not so much in the bathroom. Although, you know, feel free to use it."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Killian assured her as she placed his bag in a corner of the room and then realised that to leave again she'd have to walk past him in the narrow space, beside the bed with the brand-spanking new bedding that she'd carefully picked out because she thought it would match Killian's eyes and the whole thing was just ridiculous really. How exactly did she end up here, again?

"Well, just try to keep it down. You know, because you snore. Despite what you told me before, you do, actually, snore." Emma tried for a nonchalant look as she squeezed herself past Killian towards the door.

"And how exactly did you come by this information, love?"

Emma turned and could feel her cheeks colouring. She had intended it to be a throwaway comment, another attempt at lightening the mood, but now she felt like some kind of crazy stalker, which, she supposed, made a nice change from crazy cat-lady, but didn't really help her self-esteem any.

"Um…in the hospital. First time I came to visit you…we were talking and then you just…fell asleep. And you snored. Honestly. Ask anyone. Aurora would tell you exactly the same thing."

"Well, I do apologise love. I hope I didn't miss anything important."

Emma's cheeks burned a little hotter at the thought of all the half-whispered confessions she'd made to Killian that night. "Nope. Not at all. Think it was just about Mr Smee…and, uh…frozen yoghurt. I said I would get him some. And I did."

Killian gave her a smile but there was something in his eyes that still looked as though he was appraising her, trying to figure out just exactly what she was hiding from him. "Thank you, love. Thank you for all you've done for Mr Smee. He's been very lucky. We both have."

"OK, so just repay that by keeping the snoring down and not hogging the bathroom, OK?" With that Emma left and walked into her own room, where both Tinkerbell and Mr Smee were waiting for her.

When she woke up in the morning, she was alone in the bed; not even Tinkerbell occupied her usual spot on the pillow next to Emma's head. Emma rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, and then realised that although it was early, the house wasn't completely quiet. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. She could hear plates being moved, and a cupboard opened. A chair scraped on the hardwood. And Killian was talking, in a deep, low voice, saying words that she couldn't quite make out.

As tempting as it was to adopt the habits she'd assumed when she'd lived in shared houses in the past, to hide in her room until she was certain the coast was clear before venturing forth to use the bathroom or the kitchen, Emma decided that this was her house and surely she could be confident enough to just walk out there and see what was happening.

Still she continued to lie there and listen for a few moments longer until she struggled upright and pushed herself out of bed, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand on the way out of the room.

In the kitchen Emma found Killian sitting at the kitchen table, spooning something out of a bowl and watched, closely, by a not-very-patient Mr Smee. At first Emma assumed that Tinkerbell wasn't around, having perhaps eaten her breakfast and gone out to start her day, but then a small grey head popped over the edge of the table and Emma realised that, not only had Tinkerbell not retreated outside or to the top of the cupboards, but that she was actually sitting on Killian's lap as he ate.

All of a sudden she felt rather surplus to requirements and was tempted to back right out of the room, only that was the moment that Killian turned his head and saw she was hovering in the doorway. "Morning, love," he said, cheerfully.

"Uh. Yeah…" Emma had never been a morning person and dredging up the right words from her sleep-thickened brain seemed like a lot of effort. Most of the effort had to go into choosing words that were pleasant and didn't give away the fact that she may have been a prickly person at the best of times, but in the morning she was decidedly cranky. "Morning. I just, uh…I see I'm late to the party."

"Yes, sorry love. I wasn't sure what time you'd be up. I figured I'd let you sleep and I had company, anyway."

"Yeah. You do. Tinkerbell doesn't normally get that friendly. Not to the extent of sitting on people, anyway."

"I think she expects something as a reward, but I'm afraid that I normally let Mr Smee polish off the milk from my cornflakes in the morning." As if on cue, Tinkerbell strained her neck forward and took a big sniff of the contents of the bowl, watched by a rather possessive-looking Mr Smee.

"Right. OK. Yeah." Emma managed to focus long enough to get a look at Killian. He looked far brighter than he should have, sitting there wearing the same t-shirt and pyjama pants combo she'd seen him in when she'd gone to complain about Mr Smee. She was struck with the sudden, odd thought that it might be nice to crawl into his lap too, or, at least, run her hand through his hair and try to smooth it down for him.

In the end she settled for stroking Mr Smee's sparse fur before checking the coffeemaker in the hope that Killian had felt the need to make some. Half-way to the counter, she stopped and turned. "I have cornflakes?"

"Oh. I popped across the road. Checked on the place. All seems alright."

"Uh-huh." Emma had resumed the check of the coffeemaker, but, sadly, it sat empty and quiet on the counter. Sitting next to it, though, was a mug of what looked like steaming black tar.

"What's, uh…this?" she asked, leaning over and sniffing.

"Tea. I just have to let it steep for a while so it's drinkable. The tea in this country is a little on the weak side for my tastes, love."

"Oh. Yep. OK." Emma was still struggling with the conversation part of the morning. It was all a little overwhelming, this suddenly having a kitchen that was full of people and cats…well, _a_ person. He seemed to take up a lot of space in the kitchen though. And there were strange mugs of tea just sitting around and her cat had developed a taste for cornflake milk and Emma never ate cornflakes so how did Tinkerbell even know she would like it? Was it just because it was Killian's cornflake milk or did she get some kind of feline peer-pressure from Mr Smee? Cats were meant to be solitary, after all, so perhaps Tinkerbell thought she should be competing for all the available resources even if she didn't really want them.

Emma's brain was buzzing but she wasn't saying anything and was, in fact, staring at the kitchen countertop, a fact she only realised when Killian's voice suddenly asked "You alright, love?"

She turned to face him. "Just great. Just…not really a morning person."

"Well, why don't you go and have a shower and I might try figuring out that coffeemaker you've been staring at so longingly so it'll be ready for when you come out, yeah?"

"Um. OK. That'd be…nice." Emma was almost to the door before she thought of something. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you though. I mean, that's the reason you're here."

"Mmm, I don't think making coffee is going to send me back to hospital. And, Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"I like your glasses, love." Killian fixed her with a smile and managed to effectively block Mr Smee from stealing the cornflake milk with his hand, without even looking in the cat's direction. Emma was quietly impressed at the co-ordination he could muster this early in the morning.

"OK. I need them to see," she said, knowing it was kind of redundant but unable to think of a better response, and then she left to take her shower.

Showered, dressed, and with her contact lenses in Emma was awake enough to realise that the tank top she'd slept in was a little skimpy and perhaps she was lucky that Killian only commented on her glasses and not on anything else. Still, she felt considerably better and more ready to face the kitchen and maybe even Killian himself.

He was alone now, presumably the two cats had received their treats and gone off to…well, whatever cats did with their mornings. Perhaps they were napping, or just lurking and hoping that a really slow, fat bird landed nearby.

"Coffee?" Killian offered, holding out a mug towards to her.

"Thanks." Emma accepted the mug and took a sip. "It's good…so, uh. Thanks for this. And, uh, for being nice to me this morning. I'm, well…notreallyamorningperson." She mumbled the last part, feeling a bit ashamed of her inability to really function when she first got up, but Killian laughed it off.

"Oh, you're not the first grumpy woman I've dealt with in the morning, love."

Emma's heart dropped. _Shit!_ _The wife!_ Of course he wasn't new to this whole sharing a kitchen in the morning situation, and now she'd just gone and made him sad to boot. _Crap_. She was really bad at this whole being with other people thing. Cats were so much easier. God knows how many people Mr Smee had lost and never once had she accidentally mentioned his litter-mates and caused him to stare off into a corner for an hour or something.

She bit her lip and looked down into the mug of coffee, hoping Killian would just leave and go and be sad by himself, or something, but he didn't. Instead he said "It's OK, Emma. I don't mind talking about Milah. In fact, I spent so long trying to force myself to forget her that I actually find it a bit of a relief."

"You do?" Emma was surprised at that, talking about painful things just seemed like hurting yourself on purpose as far as she was concerned.

"I do. And I don't want you to feel…uncomfortable in your own home, after all. Alright?"

"Yep. No, that's…that's fine. Thank you…for, uh. Well, just being nice this morning."

"My pleasure, love. OK if I use the bathroom now?"

"Yep. You go right on ahead!" Emma said, a little too brightly to cover up the confusion she felt. Luckily Killian didn't appear to register any of it and he left the kitchen without a backward glance.

Emma was thankful for that because she couldn't quite make sense of it all in her own brain, so trying to justify her actions to anyone else would be hopeless. After all, it was just coffee. She got David coffee about seven times a week and that never confused her, unless he suddenly decided to go dairy-free again and forgot to let her know.

But this was somewhat unsettling, the way Killian just effortlessly fit himself into her morning routine and made it better. He promised her coffee, and he delivered it, and didn't want anything in return.

And the fact that it felt like such a rare occurrence in her life just made Emma feel sad and kind of broken, like she was some pathetic creature likely to beg Killian for whatever scraps he might offer her. She wouldn't of course. She had too much pride; or, at least, she hoped she did. But all the same her reaction worried her because she feared that it just wasn't normal.

Emma decided that she wasn't going to dwell on it any longer, and she went to work where at least she'd have something to occupy her mind. And she did, for a good few hours anyway, while she and David carried out the usual round of routine checks, paperwork and dealing with the people who just wandered into the station looking for help.

It wasn't until the afternoon that she allowed herself to think about Killian again, and she felt a bit bad for the way she'd abandoned him that morning. After all, she'd invited him to stay so she could look after him? Maybe she should check on him?

So she fired off a quick text message asking if he was OK. In response she received a picture of what appeared to be Tinkerbell clinging precariously to Killian's legs, with an orange fuzzy blur in the background that was most likely Mr Smee asleep in his chair. Emma decided to turn a blind eye to the fact that Killian's feet were clearly resting on the coffee table and be thankful that at least he wasn't overdoing it on his first day out of hospital.

In fact the picture made her kind of happy, although she didn't realise she was smiling until she looked up and noticed David giving her a bemused expression. "You get something funny?"

"Oh. You know. Just cat pictures and stuff." That was not a lie and Emma refused to feel guilty about it. At all.

David looked like he expected her to show him and Emma was worried that he might hold his hand out to take the phone, but he nodded instead and she tucked the phone safely away in her pocket. It wasn't that she thought there was anything wrong with having Killian stay with her, but she just wondered if perhaps she'd end up defending the decision when she really didn't want to. Not when it was temporary. Not when Killian's very presence in Storybrooke was temporary. It was hardly worth the bother.

David could be annoyingly perceptive at times, though. Or maybe just blindly lucky in the questions he chose to ask. "So, your neighbour…friend. That guy. He out of hospital yet?"

"Ah, yep." And then, desperate to change the subject, Emma asked how Mary Margaret was doing, which led David into a long explanation of how her sickness, which was more all-day than morning, was starting to wane, but she was incredibly tired. It probably contained more details than Emma really needed, but it had the desired effect of moving David's thoughts away from Killian.

And Emma only thought about him occasionally for the rest of the afternoon, mainly wondering if Tinkerbell had got fed up with sitting on him yet, or why she thought Killian was special enough to sit on, anyway. But whatever Emma had pictured Killian might be doing, it wasn't anything like the scene that greeted her in the kitchen when she did get home.

"Are you…making dinner?" Emma asked, although the evidence seemed pretty clear as to what was going on.

"Uh, yes. Roast beef." Killian gestured towards the oven and Emma looked through the glass door, more than a little surprised to see her muffin pan also jammed in there.

"And there's dessert?" Emma asked.

"Yorkshire puddings."

"So…dessert then?"

"No. You eat them with the meat."

"Seems a little weird." Emma straightened up and looked over at Killian, who raised one eyebrow.

"And yet in this country it's perfectly acceptable to douse potatoes in marshmallow at Thanksgiving."

"Well, sweet potatoes maybe. Alright, I'll try the pudding-cup things."

Killian sighed, loud enough that Emma could hear him. "We'll have to hope they actually rise, love. Been a while since I attempted them. Do you want some wine in the meantime?" He held a bottle up for Emma to see.

"Wine? But you can't drink with your meds."

Killian looked a little sheepish. "I bought it for you." He started to open the bottle but Emma held up a hand to stop him.

"So, this dinner…all the food and the wine, was something you went out and bought? And then you got back and made it all? I thought you were supposed to be resting. You sent that photo and you were clearly sitting in the living room. With Tinkerbell."

"Well, in my defence, they will deliver your groceries if you ask nicely…and maybe mention being injured. And when I sent that photo the roast was already on…" Killian said a little sheepishly. "So, really, what's done is done now. Just, you sit down and have some wine."

Emma started to get a sinking feeling, and it wasn't solely due to the fact that Killian had probably been over-doing it on his first full day out of hospital. "I'm just a little bit concerned that the next words out of your mouth are going to be an offer to run me a bath, or something." Emma shrugged and then there was an uncomfortable moment when neither of them spoke and Emma thought she might have offended Killian.

He put the bottle of wine back down on the table and walked the couple of steps until he was right in front of her. "You think this is all some kind of elaborate seduction?" he asked, tilting his head and looking way too seductive for Emma's liking. She wanted to take a step back and just get a little distance from him, but held her ground.

"I…no. No! I just don't want you thinking this is…I mean we agreed. Yesterday. So you know, you shouldn't have been making puddings and buying wine on my account. I'm just doing this to be a friend." Even to Emma's ears it was starting to sound like she was protesting just a little bit much. She'd said that line before, hadn't she? And she was no longer entirely certain if she kept repeating it for her own benefit, or Killian's.

"Well, Emma, I'd like to think that if anything changed, if you decided we could be more than friends then it would be because you wanted me, and not because I'd concocted some half-baked scheme to seduce you." Killian seemed a little closer now than he had even just a moment earlier, and he reached forward and brushed her arm with his hand. That shouldn't have been seductive at all, especially given the fact he'd just said that wasn't his aim. But somehow it was, and Emma had to fight the urge to just give up and lean into his embrace.

"Oh. Well. OK, then," she managed to croak out in the end once she had managed to take a deep breath and try to collect her thoughts. A moment later, though, she realised that there was the possibility that she'd just agreed that maybe they could one day be more than friends.

Somehow that kind of thing kept happening to her. Around Killian, anyway. And it was getting tiring this constant battle between what she thought she should allow herself and what she really wanted and the longer it went on the more likely it became that she just gave up trying.

But she was Emma Swan. And she wasn't going down without a fight.

Desperate to put a little distance between herself and Killian she blurted out. "I'm going to get changed and then…yeah. Pudding." She walked hastily into her bedroom and shut the door behind her, leaning against it as though she was afraid Killian might come and break it down.

She was being ridiculous. And she really needed to stop.

Emma threw on the first jeans and t-shirt she found and brushed out her hair before retreating to the bathroom to splash water on her face in the hope it would help calm her down a little more. It was only as she reached into the cupboard above the sink to find the packet of hair elastics she'd stashed in there that Emma realised the handle wasn't as loose as it had been. And the door fit better, she discovered, when she opened and closed it several times. And so did the door under the sink.

Killian had obviously been doing more with his day than just shopping and cooking, Emma reflected, as she twisted her hair into a ponytail. It was either touching, or a little creepy, and, at that moment, she couldn't completely decide.

Although she was leaning towards it being touching. And she didn't know if she was giving him a free pass or not, but, taking a deep breath and giving herself a hard look in the bathroom mirror, Emma decided she was just going to roll with it. The man had made her pudding after all.

When Emma walked back into the kitchen Killian watched her enter, and she wished she was as effective at hiding in the shadows as Tinkerbell occasionally was. As tempting as it was to take a leaf out of her cat's book and climb up to the top of the cupboards, Emma forced herself to smile and remain at floor-level. "Thanks, for fixing the bathroom cupboards, too," she said, taking the glass of wine Killian held out to her.

"Oh, no problem, love. Truth be told it got a little boring sitting by myself this morning after the cats buggered off, and it was an easy enough job to do," he replied, with a somewhat wary glance. He seemed to be waiting for her to accuse him of some kind of nefarious purpose again and it made her feel a little ashamed.

"Look…Killian. I'm sorry I was a bit, um…well I accused you of trying to just get in my pants, I guess." Emma winced, wishing she'd thought of a better expression to use, but pressed on. "But I think you are just trying to be nice…so, I'm just going to shut up and be grateful now."

Killian nodded. "Fair enough, love. Plus, the state I'm in I've no doubt you could really hurt me if you wanted to. I'm hardly much of a threat." He flashed her a smile that was all teeth and seemed far too cocky for a guy who was talking about how she could beat him up if she wanted to.

"I think that's the case whatever state you're in, but, please don't spoil the moment by saying how much you'd enjoy it if I kicked your ass. Don't be that guy."

"Darling, I would never be that guy." Killian placed a hand over his heart and looked kind of solemn, like he was making a promise to her that he intended to keep. But then his attention was pulled away by the oven beeping. "I think dinner's just about to be served; take a seat and I'll bring it over."

Emma did as she'd been instructed and was soon joined by Mr Smee, who showed his usual impeccable timing in the matter of food being served. Emma removed him from the table a couple of times and before he got the message and sat in an empty chair instead.

Dinner was delicious. Especially the puddings, which, it turned out, were crunchy. Emma ate three and then found herself watching Killian as he helped himself to another from the dish on the table. It was an awful habit, watching other people to make sure they didn't take her share, but one she found it hard to break.

Killian noticed though, and put another of the puddings on her plate. "You seem to have run out, love."

"I'd be worried that you're fattening me up for Christmas, except…" She let that hang in the air. _Except you won't still be here at Christmas_ was what she thought.

"Except I would miss your company too much."

"Hmm. OK. Well now you're just making me feel bad for saying I might let Mr Smee eat you if you fall over and can't get up."

"You didn't say you'd definitely let him, just that he'd want to. And, like I said, I wouldn't put it past him. He's a survivor, that's for certain. Perhaps we have that in common." He cast a fond glance at the cat, who was still sitting on the chair and trying to work out the best way to launch an assault on the table. Every so often he'd raise a paw, touch the table, but when either Killian or Emma glanced his way, he'd give up and go back to waiting patiently for them to look away again.

"Well, you're not the one trying to steal food. And it's really good. I just…it's really good." Emma was trying not to sound too surprised by that fact, but whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

"I'm just glad that the Yorkshire's rose and the meat's not overdone," Killian said, with a shrug. "I haven't done anything like this for a long time."

Emma took a bite and thought about the conversation they'd had that morning and decided that perhaps Killian hadn't been giving her permission so much as asking for her help. And, fine. If he wanted to talk about Milah, she could do that.

"So you used to cook for your wife?"

"Some. Not at first…when I met her my cooking skills ran about as far as beans on toast." He chuckled, ruefully. "But, uh, Milah taught me. She was much better than I am, but I picked up the basics."

Emma nodded and went back to eating, wondering if she'd now done what she was supposed to. That was how it worked, didn't it? Normal human interaction with another human being. You asked a question and they answered it and you moved on.

Only why did she feel like she should add something else, share something from her life? More to the point, why did she want to?

Before she could lose her nerve Emma blurted out "No one really teaches you to cook when you're a foster kid. In the group homes, it's just too busy and they just want to get food on the table. Maybe you'll get to chop some vegetables, but that's about it. And when you're in someone else's home, they're not going to waste their time on a kid who'll be gone soon, plus, you know, they're hardly going to let you loose in the kitchen when they think you'll just steal everything that's in there."

Emma lifted her eyes from her plate and risked looking over at Killian. He nodded, briefly, and carried on eating. Emma supposed it wasn't so bad, this sharing thing. Maybe. With Killian at least.

And it seemed like a small recompense for such a nice dinner.

After dinner, after the dishes were washed and Mr Smee had been plied with several small pieces of beef, which he informed them loudly were not enough to really satisfy his appetite but he'd eat them anyway, Emma found herself sitting on the sofa next to Killian again, feeling a little drowsy and replete after stuffing in so many Yorkshire puddings herself.

And she felt braver now, after the conversation at dinner. A little braver, anyway. She still couldn't quite find it in herself to ask the question she really wanted to, which was _"When are you leaving?" _Emma didn't think she could handle the answer to that one. But, perhaps, she could ask something else that she wondered about. If the ending was too painful to contemplate, perhaps she might do better with the beginning.

"Why here? Why Storybrooke…I mean, it seems a long way from where you started?"

"Are you asking for my life story, love?" Killian's voice was low and quiet and Emma knew that if she turned her head to look at him, rather than the TV, then she'd be close enough to see the individual bristles on his cheek, to make out which ones were a lighter red-blond, and the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his eye. But she wasn't going to do that, she was just going to listen and not let herself be distracted by cataloguing all the features she found so appealing on Killian's face.

"I just…I was just curious," Emma confessed. "I mean, I know so much about Mr Smee, but very little about the person he lives with."

"He's not been spilling my secrets to you?"

"No, he's been remarkably tight-lipped."

Killian sighed, and shifted a little and Emma found herself sliding closer to him, her head ending up almost on his shoulder. She thought she should straighten up, put a little distance between them, but she couldn't find it in her to move from where she was warm and comfortable.

"I, um…well, after Milah died I just wanted something new. So I signed on to crew some billionaire's super-yacht for a while. We went as far as New Zealand, then back up to San Francisco. Ended up on this coast in the end, just moving around. And then I found Mr Smee, or, perhaps, he found me, and I kind of went where the work was, as long as it was somewhere I could go with a cat."

"Like Storybrooke?"

"Like Storybrooke, indeed."

"But you still have family in England? You'll go back there one day?" This time Emma did twist her head a little, just in time to watch something dark and painful pass over Killian's face.

"I don't have any family really. Not now, anyway."

Emma pressed her shoulder closer to Killian's and he laid his hand over hers in response. "I guess that's something you and I have in common, then," she said.

"Kindred spirits," Killian replied.

"Waifs and strays."

There was a pause in the conversation, the television still murmured in the background and Killian's finger traced patterns on Emma's wrist in a way that was almost hypnotic. "Want to tell me about them?" she asked.

"Well…my mother started out as my brother's babysitter," he replied in a tone that was far too flippant for the subject matter.

"OK."

"His mother was hit by a drunk driver who mounted the footpath one afternoon and somehow missed the baby buggy she was pushing…maybe she pushed it out of the way, saved her baby, but couldn't save herself. She died before she made it to the hospital. But that's about all I know of her. _My_ mother was the girl my dad paid to look after Liam…my brother. And, then, I guess, something happened. And I can only assume really, because she's not around to ask, but I would think that it's one thing playing house when you're only there part-time, and something else entirely finding yourself at 19 in a grotty flat with a baby and a small boy and a man who's barely there, in body or in spirit."

"That does sound tough."

"Uh-huh. Must have been." Killian's voice was terse and cold. "So she left and I don't know much about her either, apart from what Liam could tell me, which wasn't a lot. He liked her. Apparently she was very free with the biscuits…you know, cookies, when there were any in the house. I guess that appeals to a small boy. And then it was just the three of us."

"Is it still?" Emma asked, almost dreading the answer. Killian's hand had stilled against her own and she moved slightly, flipping them over so hers was on top, palm to palm, her fingers sliding into the gaps between his and holding him firmly, as though she was afraid he might just float away on a sea of painful memories and never make it back to her again.

"No. Liam died when I was 16. He was 20. Spent a weekend away with some friends and they went swimming in the river not realising that it wasn't as safe as it looked. He went in to save a friend. The friend lived, Liam didn't." Killian sighed. "He was always a bit reckless at the worst of times."

"And your dad?"

"Last I saw of him he was off to Brighton for a job, or a girlfriend…or something, anyway. Told me to get a train down in a couple of weeks and he'd meet me. But he didn't and I couldn't find anyone who'd seen hide nor hair of him. I think…I think it just got to be too much for him. Too many people had disappeared out of his life and he gave up; couldn't find it in him to care anymore and he just…buggered off God knows where. So I drifted around…tried to keep out of too much trouble, best as I could, anyway. By the time I was 18 I washed up near Portsmouth and ended up in Milah's B&B, one she'd inherited from her parents. I was skint, she let me hang around as long as I did something to help out. Eventually she said she wasn't that interested if I didn't get my act together, so I found a more permanent job, working for a company that built yachts."

"And you just stayed?"

"I did. Until Milah wasn't there anymore and I had nothing to stay for." Killian sighed. "She was good for me though; a little older, more settled. I hate to think what it might have been like if I hadn't met her. She was the right person for me, at that time. The person that I needed and I was lucky to find her." Emma nodded as best she could without lifting her head from its resting place against Killian's shoulder. She didn't have to imagine what it was he'd so narrowly avoided, not with knowing what her own life had been like at 18.

"You loved her a lot," she said quietly, despite the fact that, and it hurt to admit this even to just herself, she did feel a little jealous. Not just because Milah had been loved by Killian, but because she'd been loved at all. Emma didn't think she'd ever had anything like that, or was ever likely to. She'd never been the right person for anyone.

"I did…do. It's a little different now she's been gone a while. At first I was so angry that I couldn't keep her, but maybe my life isn't over just yet." Killian sighed. "And at least everything that happened with Milah taught me one thing. I'm nothing like my father."

Emma wasn't certain how to respond to that; there was nothing she could say that would change any of what had happened to him. "What about you, love?" Killian murmured, in the end, his other arm slipping around her shoulders and the fingers tangling in her hair. Really, she should move, Emma thought. Move away and get some distance, a little perspective. But she was going to be selfish, and stay just where she was.

"Oh. Out of the foster system. Did some things I'm not proud of, got my heart broken." Sometimes she was almost thankful that Neal had left her high and dry, not sure where the line that signified 'too far' would have been. She was lucky she got out of the life of the petty criminal when she did, she could see that now. At the time his betrayal had been devastating. "Tried a few jobs in a few places and then wound up here," she continued. "And stayed."

"With a house and a cat and everything."

"Yep, that's me."

"But why Storybrooke, love?"

Emma twisted the hand that was holding Killian's, not quite breaking off the contact, but tempted all the same. Over the years she'd tried out a few different versions of this story, all of them outright lies. But she couldn't lie to him, or, rather, she wouldn't.

"It's where she left me. My mother. She left me on the side of the road, near where you were hit by that car. They think I was only a day or so old. And I just came back because…well I wondered if anyone knew anything or remembered anything. Someone who'd been pregnant, someone who'd left suddenly, maybe. But they didn't, at least, the people I asked didn't. They did remember the baby, though, and once they knew it was me, well they just looked at me differently after that. Like I wasn't a real person, just a curious object they'd heard people talk about. So I stopped asking, but I stayed anyway."

"And joined the police."

"Yeah. That was David's doing, really. I took a job doing some filing at the station…nothing much. I thought I could maybe ask around, see what they knew about…about how I was found. It was a dead end, though. David tried, but he couldn't turn up any leads. But he suggested I apply, and he let me meet his girlfriend, who had a room to rent, and then…well here I am."

"Here you are indeed, love." Killian's voice was warm and tender and it was like rubbing balm into an ache that she'd had for a long, long time.

"Yeah," Emma said, feeling a little drowsy and allowing herself to relax back down again. "Here's not so bad, really."

Emma wasn't certain how long they stayed on the sofa, only that after a while she felt herself being gently nudged awake. "Oh God, sorry! I was leaning on you too much…are you sore? Did you ice your ribs earlier? You should have iced your ribs like Dr Whale told you to."

"I'm fine, love. Really. But you should probably go to bed. As much as I don't want to lose your company you clearly need your sleep."

"Yeah. I guess." Emma felt disoriented, like she'd missed out on something. They'd had the heart to heart and then she'd just…fallen asleep. Which seemed anti-climactic, although she wasn't sure what kind of climax she'd expected, or even wanted. Declarations of love, passionate kisses, all would have been more exciting, sure, but they also would have complicated matters between Killian and herself. And complicated wasn't something she was looking for.

"OK. Well, goodnight Killian." Emma stood up, reluctantly, and walked towards the door.

""night, love."

And things were just as calm, just as companionable in the morning. Emma was less reluctant to get out of bed, feeling more prepared about what would greet her in the kitchen. And sure enough it was almost identical to the previous day. Two cats, one Killian and not enough milk in the cornflakes to make that equation work at all. One mug of steamy black tea-tar lurking on the kitchen counter…and one cup of coffee waiting for her beside the toaster.

"Thank-you," she said, to Killian, who was trying to fend off Mr Smee's unwelcome advances.

"You're welcome love," he replied, smiling broadly.

No, who wanted complicated when she could have this. And this was all far more civilised, more fitting of the adult she liked to think she was these days, not the scared little girl she feared she'd always remain.

She was glad of her pleasant start to the day as the morning wore on and she was dispatched to the Lucas's B&B to speak to Mrs Gold, the pawnbroker's wife. Mr Gold had been hanging around, making a nuisance of himself, and had got himself into Mrs Lucas's bad books. Emma was to see if the wife wanted anything done about it.

It was always tricky in these situations; no one ever wanted to come right out and say the person they had picked was a threat to them. Half the time the women went back, and Emma couldn't really blame them. Life without a safety net was awful and sometimes it was hard to walk away from a home, from a life, however bad it seemed on the outside. It was still _something_, and it was hard to throw that away on a promise of nothing in return.

So she talked it through with the woman, but they reached no real solution. All Emma could do was try to impress upon Mrs Gold that she would have support, whatever she decided. And then Emma returned to the station to catch up with David, who had been doing some follow-ups on his own.

"How'd it go," he asked.

"As well as I could expect. She says she'd like him to leave her alone, but he keeps saying he loves her, and she's wavering. Plus he's careful to avoid doing anything outright illegal. He's moved her car a couple of times as he still has a set of keys, but only about three spaces along. He's just being a nuisance at the moment, and making sure she can't just forget him. It might escalate, it might not. She says she trusts him, but who knows?" Trust seemed a fragile thing to Emma, and far too easily broken in the hands of someone careless.

"Guess we just keep an eye on the situation," David said, nodding, mostly to himself, and with a heavy sigh that let Emma know he could see where Mr Gold's actions could lead as well.

"How'd you get on?" Emma asked.

"Oh, alright. I went to see that neighbour of yours, Killian? See if he could remember anything else about the accident."

"Oh. Did you?" Emma tried to sound as casual as possible.

"Mmm. He wasn't home though."

"Right. OK. Well I can catch him later if you want."

"Oh no. I spoke to him." David broke into a smile, letting Emma know he'd been stringing her along the whole time. "He saw me out your living room window, waved me over."

"Right. Yeah. Course he did." It wasn't like she was trying to hide Killian away from everyone she knew, but, even so, it might have been nice if he'd just laid low. "So, could he remember anything?" Emma asked, hoping to keep the conversation on track.

"Nope. Nothing, really. And it looks like you're getting Shepherd's pie for dinner."

"Oh. Am I? That's, uh…that's nice."

"Yeah. I can see why you invited him to stay."

"No, it's not like that! I didn't…not because he'd make dinner. You make it sound like I've enslaved him. It's just…dinner. And I was being nice, because he's only just out of hospital."

David shrugged. "He's says he's doing OK, just a bit bored. Hence the pie. It looked good."

"Are you hoping for an invitation?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no. I mean, I understand completely why Mary Margaret falls asleep every afternoon, but, you know…" David stopped speaking and looked a little sheepish.

"You miss having someone make your dinner?"

"Yeah. Just a bit."

"Welcome to the real world. How about I get you coffee?"

"Well, that's a start," David called, as Emma walked to the coffee machine. "But it's not the same as Shepherd's pie."

When she returned with a cup of coffee for each of them, Emma hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out "So you don't think it's weird? Killian staying with me?"

"Do you think it's weird?" David asked, peering suspiciously into the cup.

"Uh…no. I guess not. Well, the mugs of tea that just lurk on the counter until they grow legs and walk away are a bit weird, but I guess I can live with it."

"Well that's OK then. Did you put sugar in this?" David took a sip and pulled a face.

"I thought you were giving up sugar? Fine. I'll get you some."

When Emma got home she could see the extent of Killian's boredom, in pieces all over the living room floor, a curious Mr Smee walking through it delicately, sniffing the odd piece. "You're, uh…busy."

"Just trying to get your vacuum to work better, love. It's not really picking anything up." He turned to watch what the cat was doing. "No, Mr Smee! We don't eat the screws."

"Yeah, I had noticed that…" Emma tried to remember when she'd last actually used it.

"I pulled a lot of hair out of the head. I think that was the problem." He held up a large ball of fluff and fur and other assorted nasty stuff.

"Really? That much cat fur?" Emma supposed it was possible. Mr Smee had been around a lot and he did shed a lot. "No wonder it wasn't working.

"No, human hair. Most of it long and blonde."

"Humph." Killian was enjoying this far too much, grinning widely at her. "Well, you know, it's not like I shed or anything. Not like your cat does."

"I don't know, love. I think you might be getting your summer coat." Killian smirked and raised one eyebrow and, she couldn't help it, Emma smiled back. It was kind of funny, after all.

"It's OK, though," Killian continued. "I'm sure Tinkerbell will still let you sit on the sofa even if you do leave hair all over it."

"Yeah, yeah. You're funny. I'm going to get changed, now." Retreating to her room Emma reflected that she'd been right when she'd told David it didn't feel weird having Killian here. In fact, it felt the opposite of weird…whatever that was. It felt kind of normal now, for him to just be here, waiting for her. Kind of like Mr Smee.

Only Killian was less demanding and had nicer personal habits.

And Emma decided to just leave it at that. She wasn't really one for a lot of introspection, having learned from past experience that her life was what it was and she'd have to cope with the bad things that happened to her as best she could. So maybe she should just take Mary Margaret's advice and enjoy this happy moment while she had the chance.

Although Emma, perhaps naively, expected the moment to last a little longer than it did. She'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that Killian seemed more than happy to hang around. Sure the dinners he cooked were nice, the odd jobs he made up to fill in his day were even nicer, but what she really liked was just having someone there, someone who was happy to hear about her day, play 'can cats eat this food or will it kill them?' with her, and just generally remain that same, warm solid presence in her life.

And, even Emma would admit, it was certainly possible that the fact she was undeniably attracted to Killian didn't hurt. Perhaps she was more attracted to him now that she knew she didn't just appreciate him physically. If they had hooked up then she wouldn't have been adverse to him hanging around past breakfast.

But that wasn't going to happen, although he was hanging around past breakfast all the time. And when she got home on Friday night Killian was still there, where she'd left him. Only he looked a little worried. "So, uh, what's happening?" Emma asked him.

"Well I thought I would give you a night off, love."

"Night off? I'm not working tonight."

"No, from chasing me around trying to make me take my shirt off."

"Yeah…you keep telling yourself that's why I'm doing it. But the ice is helping you. You're getting around much better now."

"Ah, and that's the thing love." Killian gave her a smile that looked a little kindly, the type of smile you'd give someone when you're about to break bad news. Emma's stomach lurched unexpectedly, which just made her feel _silly_, and, worse, a little vulnerable. It was hardly a feeling Emma enjoyed.

"I thought I might head back across the road tonight." Killian scratched the back of his head and looked away.

Emma got the feeling there was more to the story. Sure, she'd expected him to leave at some point. At least, she thought she was prepared for it. But to just spring it on her, seemed odd. "Oh. Uh. OK. You sure that's wise?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, love. But if I'm going to go to work tomorrow…"

"But you can't," Emma blurted out. "You're injured."

"I'm a lot better now; you said so yourself."

"Not for work. Not for…well whatever the hell it is you do. What if you make it worse? What will you do then?"

Killian shrugged. "I'm sure I can manage. I'll take it easy…but I can't stay away from work forever, love. It's just not practical. I need something to do, and I need…"

"No, you need to just take care of yourself." Emma was frustrated now. The whole idea was just idiotic and doomed to fail. Killian had been fine, hadn't he? Just pottering around her place. OK, it probably wasn't the most exciting way to spend his days, but he was recovering, and he needed to rest. "Plus it's Friday tomorrow, what's the point of working for one day?"

"The point is that I want to."

"Well, what are you going to do if a boat falls on you or something, and you can't get up? What'll happen to Mr Smee then? You promised him you'd look after him, and you can't just dump him with me. It was bad enough when you got yourself hit by the car. I thought…I thought you were dead when I found you. And Mr Smee…he'd be so upset if that happened."

Emma's voice was considerably louder now, and even she could hear the desperation that accompanied her words. She felt ridiculous, betrayed by the emotions that had suddenly burst to the surface. After so long trying to push down the worry that Killian was leaving, ignoring the voice in her head saying she could never have a future with him, it was all just boiling over now. So much for living in the moment. As far as Emma was concerned, this moment really _sucked._

Killian was giving her a strange look; part concern and part…something else. Probably he was horrified at her outburst. Emma certainly was.

"You're being a little over-the-top about it, love," he said, not bothering to hide that he was annoyed now.

And, suddenly, it was like someone poured a bucket of cold water over Emma. "You know what?" she said, in a much cooler voice than she'd been able to muster previously. "It is ridiculous. _I_ am being totally ridiculous."

Killian narrowed his eyes and looked at Emma appraisingly. "Are you sure you're alright, love? Because something's bothering you and I'm worried it's going to cause a problem between us."

Emma shrugged, feeling much more like herself now. "That's the thing. There's no _us_. I don't do…anything like that." Killian looked taken aback, and started to say something, probably he was going to refute her statement. Emma carried on, regardless. If she didn't get it out now, if she didn't stop this once and for all before it completely got out of hand, then she'd only have herself to blame later.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a voice that didn't sound particularly sorry at all. "But I can't. I don't know how, and you know what Killian? You may not be like your father, but I have figured out that I am _exactly_ like my mother, whoever the hell she was. I am not putting myself through something I will fail at. I will do too much, or too little, or just…and this is the most likely scenario, _nothing_, and you will end up walking away. And really, what's the point? Why put myself through it? I'm not your love, and I've never been the right person for anyone and I think perhaps you had better leave now. I'll see you round."

It was quite a speech and Emma was hoping her exit, or, at least, the retreat she beat to her bedroom would be similarly dramatic would be painlessly quick, but she hadn't counted on the fact that Mr Smee had come wandering out of the kitchen to see what had happened to his dinner and she nearly tripped over him. "And take your damn cat with you!" Emma said, as she stumbled, much louder and angrier than she'd intended.

She made it to the bedroom without further incident and then she just sat on her bed, too numb to cry or do anything. And if she expected Killian to plead with her from the other side of the door, then she was fooling herself. It seemed she'd succeeded in making her point. She did, in the end, hear him moving around in the spare room, gathering up his belongings, no doubt. And then, in the hallway, she heard him say "Come on, Mr Smee. Let's go home," before the front door opened, and then closed again.

Well, that was done.

She sat there for a little longer, until the tears threatened to fall and she decided she wasn't going to allow herself to wallow. Better to just face the empty house head-on and get on with…whatever it was she thought she was going to do now.

But when she got to the kitchen she found someone hadn't understood her message. Mr Smee was sitting in the middle of the table and let out a plaintive yowl when he saw her coming. "You can go home now," she said firmly. "I don't need you."

Mr Smee didn't seem impressed by that. He sat, making eye contact and then yowled again, with the air of someone trying to communicate in a foreign language.

"You're not mine," she yelled. "Go home! I was perfectly fine until you got here, and you ruined everything!"

Mr Smee looked at her with his ancient yellow eyes and walked a few steps to the edge of the table before sitting down again and yowling. It looked like nothing Emma did was going to get through to him.

"I don't want to pretend anymore, Mr Smee," Emma said, quietly. She gathered him in her arms, thinking she'd put him out the front door and hope he found his way home, but instead it just seemed easier to sink into a chair and bury her face in his fur. At least Mr Smee would have the decency not to complain that she was getting his back wet with her tears.

"Oh, Mr Smee," she whispered, as he started up his rusty purr. "I think I've done something really stupid."

**Thanks for reading!**


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